


I'll kiss you once for life (I'll kiss you twice for death)

by That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl



Series: Come Back for You [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Polyamory, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26705905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl/pseuds/That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl
Summary: After many years, Jaskier passes, leaving Geralt and Yennefer with a hole in their relationship and more grief than either wants to deal with. Is that why they keep encountering people who remind them of the bard?Aka 5 times Geralt and Yennefer found a reincarnation of Jaskier, and one time the latest Jaskier found them
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii/Yennefer z Vengerbergu/Original Female Character(s), geralt/yennefer/original characters
Series: Come Back for You [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784959
Comments: 28
Kudos: 133





	1. Once the song is over

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone and welcome to the first witcher fic I ever started writing! It's still not done technically, so I don't think updates will be quite as regular as some of my other fics, but you should still expect a chapter a week until all 7 chapters are up, because for some reason this is the story that finally made me do a 5+1 (with an introduction of sorts).
> 
> But with each reincarnation there has to be a death, so that tag's there for a reason. I'll put details of each death in the end notes so you can jump ahead as warning if you want; nothing's too graphic but take care of yourselves!
> 
> The title for the fic and each chapter comes from the Florence and the Machine song "My Best Dress."

They’d been traveling together a long time now. After the disastrous dragon hunt, they’d separated for a year. In that time, Geralt found Ciri, Yennefer played a major role in the war against Nilfgaard, and Jaskier…he never quite shared what happened in that time, but whatever it was, destiny had brought them back together again. He’d never admit it, but part of Geralt had wondered if it was destiny rewarding him for finally accepting his child surprise and no longer fighting fate.

It certainly felt like a reward as their odd little family came together. First Geralt and Ciri, and then Yennefer and Jaskier ended up joining them after traveling together. Geralt had had concerns at first, but they’d settled together in a way that almost felt dangerous. But thankfully that danger was typically turned on whoever dared to oppose them instead of each other now, and if the energy did turn on each other it was in decidedly…non-destructive ways.

But that journey was a story for another time, and the story for now was a story that Geralt had long hesitated to tell. But they had been traveling together a long time now, long enough that Ciri had grown and begun to travel on her own. There was almost no one Geralt trusted more than the two people on the other side of the fire from him, but still he looked down at the swords he was sharpening instead of them as he talked. “And that’s the true story of what happened at Blaviken.” Just over 50 years later, and Geralt finally got to tell his side of the story. He wasn’t sure if it was a relief or not.

There was silence for a moment, and then Jaskier spoke. “I just want to start by saying that that was a horrible situation beyond your control, and you shouldn’t have been blamed for that, at all.” His voice sounded sympathetic, but then he spoke again. “That being said, you really should have just killed Stregobor. Or let Renfri do it; lure him out to her or something.” Jaskier had learned many things on their travels, but a sense of self-preservation did not seem to be one of them. Unfortunately, immunity to Geralt’s glare had been something Jaskier had learned.

Still, Geralt glared at him. “And draw the ire of the mages? That might be more dangerous than the alternative.”

Jaskier’s expression turned sympathetic once more, but Yennefer just hummed in consideration. “Stregobor may hold a high position, but he isn’t the most popular among the mages. There’d be some period where people would try to have something happen because we can’t just let people think you can kill a mage with impunity, but it would go away.” She snorted. “I certainly wouldn’t miss him.”

Jaskier turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “What did he do to you?”

Yennefer made a face, recalling unpleasant memories. “Turned the first person who seemed to really see me against me, outed my secrets to the Brotherhood of Mages, and nearly cost me my first court appointment, if I hadn’t taken matters into my own hands.” She looked at Jaskier. “And that was just before I left Aretuza.”

“Oh, he definitely should have died.” Jaskier got that gleam in his eye that made Geralt wonder if they’d need to warn Jaskier away from physically attacking the old mage himself. “He’s nearly older than the Continent itself, right? He’s lived too long already then. He should have died in Blaviken.”

“Hmm.” Geralt returned his focus to his swords. “No use discussing it. Can’t change the past.”

“It’s probably for the best, dearheart.” He could hear the shifting expression in Jaskier’s tone, going joking to lighten the mood. “If your reputation hadn’t been wounded, how could I have earned your admiration as your loyal bard determined to repair it?” He began to strum the opening cords to Toss a Coin on his lute but stopped short. “Would we have even stuck together so long?”

“Probably, since you don’t have a tendency to let go, even if you get shoved away.” Despite her words, Yennefer’s tone was softly teasing.

“How do I feel both insulted and understood?” Jaskier laughed, and Geralt looked up to see him leaning closer to Yennefer. “But even you, mistress mage, cannot deny my charms. Even if I was terrified of you at first.”

“It seems we’ve both grown on each other.” Yennefer leaned in to Jaskier, and Geralt wondered why he ever feared they’d actually kill each other. Except that Yennefer nearly had right after she saved Jaskier’s life the first time, although they’d gotten past that.

“Perhaps you’ve enchanted me with those violet eyes of yours.” Jaskier leaned in, and Geralt began to pack up his swords. He’d long finished, and by the smell coming off of the two of them it seemed they were nearing the time to move toward Yennefer’s tent with its generously sized bed.

“Hmm, perhaps.” Yennefer leaned in to Jaskier, not much space left between their faces. “Are you going to write another song about them?”

“Oh, darling, I may need to; have I incompletely captured their magic before?” He hummed and strummed his lute, nearing Yennefer for a kiss before pulling back, looking wildly between Yennefer and Geralt. “Wait. Magic! Could you actually reverse time, redo something?”

“No.” Geralt grunted.

“It may not be impossible.” Yennefer had a thoughtful look. “It would take immense amounts of chaos, especially if you wanted to go as far back as Blaviken. But spells to redo an experience? That sounds possible.”

Jaskier lit up in the way that Geralt loved that also made him regret Jaskier and Yennefer becoming friends. “Ooh do tell.”

Yennefer thought. “Well it hasn’t really been done—”

“Not a problem for the most powerful and cleverest mage in the land.” Jaskier nodded.

Yennefer smiled at him briefly before continuing. “While there’d be more to it, I think the basic incantation would be—”

Geralt stopped listening as she switched to Elder. A spell like that would be too powerful to get into the wrong hands, so the fewer minds a mage could pull it from the better.

Except Jaskier had no such considerations. “It sounds almost musical.” He strummed his lute, repeating the words in an almost song.

“No, your pronunciation is a little off.” Yennefer held up her hands and drew his attention as she corrected his pronunciation until it matched hers.

“Right.” Jaskier grinned, repeating it and strumming his lute. “It may not be a tried and tested spell, but I do like it for a song.”

“No.” Geralt held steady as both looked at him. “Knowing Yennefer, it could be a powerful and effective spell. We can’t allow it to become widely known.”

“Ah, but it does nothing from the lips of a mere mortal like me.” Jaskier smiled, strumming his lute to glaze over the mention of his mortality. They’d all noticed his movements had become a bit stiffer, his hair a little less brown at the temples, but none of them had commented on it.

Yennefer sighed. “Geralt is right. Your songs don’t just stay with you, Jaskier. We can’t have my innovative spellwork being sung by half the Continent; imagine if that was how some young mage discovered their power.”

“Very true.” Jaskier sighed and shook his head theatrically. “We are simply too good at what we do. We must contain this, for the sake of the world.” The dangerous gleam came back to his eyes. “I’ll just have to turn this songwriting energy to setting the record straight on Blaviken. I can’t kill Stregobor, but I can at least ruin his reputation.”

Yennefer smirked. “There’ll be no complaints from me on that.”

Geralt wasn’t sure if he wanted what happened in Blaviken getting rehashed so publicly, but he trusted Jaskier. But it wouldn’t hurt to try to distract Jaskier for the time being anyways. “We can always focus on your skills in other areas now. Your primary talent outside music, perhaps.”

“Thank you for acknowledging my musical talent this time, Mr. fillingless pie.” Jaskier smiled.

Geralt groaned, dropping his head to his chest. “That was years ago. Decades. Before we met Yen, even.”

“The day we met Yennefer, you mean. But that is true. And you did need a nap.” Jaskier smirked, and Geralt could read the friendly teasing.

“Well if we did want to move to filling and rest, the tent is ready.” Yennefer stood, brushing off her gown as if it wasn’t immaculate despite sitting in a dusty forest around a fire. The gleam in her eyes outshone the dying embers of the fire. “Shall we?”

“Oh absolutely.” Jaskier sprung up quickly, hiding the slight wince to his expression afterwards with an enthusiastic expression as he turned to Geralt. “Coming?”

He no longer gave Jaskier the satisfaction of responding to his double entendres, but it didn’t matter as they would get plenty of satisfaction soon. “Of course.” Geralt gathered his supplies, checked that the fire had reached a point where it could not spread, and followed them into the tent.

\-----

That night beside the fire soon blended with others, the only real reminder being Jaskier following through on his promise to make a song about Blaviken. And the other song, the one that he’d made to go to Yennefer’s spell, reappeared as well. But it was only ever while they were alone, typically just another way to pass the time. True to his promise to them, he never performed it when they stopped in taverns or inns, the times they did stop in taverns or inns and he still performed. There were many younger bards now, more energetic and eager for coin. Geralt would not have expected a day when Jaskier was more content to sit and watch then take the attention for himself, but if asked Jaskier would say it was more about being with the company he had rather than needing attention from strangers.

But Geralt and Yennefer could not help but notice as he moved slower, even began to stop coming on as many adventures. He had plenty of friends to stay with, even if he always returned to Geralt and Yennefer, or them to him. Although the years meant near nothing to Yennefer and himself, Geralt could see when they began to truly hit Jaskier.

Eventually he slowly ceased joining them altogether, finding a quiet spot in Oxenfurt for them and Ciri to visit where he settled comfortably, starting to teach full time and complaining as students claimed to be his bastard grandchildren, then bastard great-grandchildren. He’d hated that, but his eyes still lit up hearing the stories everyone brought him. 

After a while he wouldn’t even make the journey (even by portal) to Kaer Morhen each winter, needing the less harsh winters of Oxenfurt. So they joined him there instead, always keeping him company when they could. But it was never truly lonely there, Jaskier or his lute or visiting friends and students (past or present) always making some sort of music and contributing to a happy, homey atmosphere.

Until the day the music began to stop. Geralt was there, and as soon as he sensed it coming he called for Yen, who portalled in with Ciri.

Jaskier smiled at them, still holding his lute even if he did not have the strength to strum. “To think, this is how death will get me. Old and in bed; not even worth writing a song about.”

“Shut up, you did plenty worth writing about.” Yennefer’s eyes were watery in a way she may deny later, and the air grew charged as her chaos grew with her emotions. But there was nothing she could do now.

Geralt had seen plenty of death in his long, long life, but none cut quite so deep as this. “And wrote about it plenty.”

“I did, didn’t I.” Jaskier looked satisfied, the wrinkles around his eyes and in his cheeks deepening with his smile. He looked across the three gathered; Ciri no longer the young girl she’d been at their first meeting but Geralt and Yennefer still much the same, externally at least. Jaskier looked at peace, and reached his lute toward where they stood at his bedside. “Take care of her; I won’t be needing her anymore. I love you all.” He sighed, and looked toward the light spilling in through the window. His eyes closed, and he looked at peace.

Geralt heard each slow heartbeat until there was no more to hear; he clenched his hands into fists, careful to avoid the delicate elven lute where it lay on the bed. Jaskier had carefully maintained it since their first adventure all those years ago; he couldn’t let anything happen to it now.

Without thinking, Geralt picked up the lute and carried it out of the room with him, unable to stay in there any longer.

He heard and smelled Yennefer before he saw her; still the familiar perfume of lilac and gooseberries over half a century later. She sat beside him on a bench in the garden Jaskier had maintained. “What now?”

“We knew this was coming.” Geralt began to clench his hands, but stopped himself when he remembered what he was holding. He’d seen how Jaskier cared for it many times; he could preserve it as a…memorial or something.

“It doesn’t make it easier.” Yennefer leaned against him, a hand resting on the lute. “I suppose this is ours now.”

“Suppose so.” He ran his hand over it; the strings made a weak sound nowhere close to the beautiful sounds its true owner drew from it.

“It still feels like him.” Yennefer’s hands shifted over it as well. “His…energy I mean.”

Geralt merely grunted. But if going forward it found its way into their packs when they travelled, neither commented on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's death is probably the tamest; Jaskier dies of old age at home surrounded by Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri. The others may not be so nice, but I hope you stick around anyways!


	2. Your face a troubled frown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and welcome back! Like last time, the warning for the death this chapter is in the end notes, so spoilers but take care of yourself. Anyways, enjoy!

Geralt was alone, traveling and looking for work. He and Yennefer still spent time together, of course, but there was a piece missing. Even if twenty years had passed.

Twenty years felt short when you were nearing 175.

But now Geralt was in another tavern, drinking another ale, while another bard played in the corner. Geralt payed her no mind, even if the crowd seemed particularly pleased with her performance. They were probably just eager for a distraction; another war was raging. Geralt didn’t pay that much attention either; he’d always said witchers didn’t meddle in the affairs of men, and now everything mortal seemed so petty. Why not spend their short lives doing something else? Why waste it with destruction that would only make it shorter?

While Geralt was lost in his thoughts, the bard had finished, and the crowd cheered. But she didn’t linger with the crowd, instead coming over to the corner where Geralt sat. Why did bards always go to those who seemed to want their attention least?

A cautious smile spread across the bard’s face, but it was all wrong. Wavy hair too dark flowing to the square jaw, hazel eyes not popping against tan skin the way blue had against a fair complexion. Geralt had no time for this bard, but it didn’t stop her. “I apologize for disturbing you, but I couldn’t help but notice your instrument. Do you play?”

Jaskier’s lute sat upon the table; Geralt wasn’t sure what had led to him taking it out of the case. “It’s a friend’s.”

“Where is your friend?” The bard sat across from Geralt, despite the fact that Geralt was certain he made no attempts to look like he wanted company.

“Dead.” Perhaps that would be enough to scare her off.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” There seemed to be genuine sympathy, but only for a moment. “Would you mind if I tried it? Something this beautiful deserves to be played.”

Geralt was going to say that he would mind, or perhaps just snatch the lute away and put it in its case where it belonged, but the bard had already grabbed it.

But she didn’t begin to play. Instead, he sat there with a stunned expression on her face for long enough that Geralt began to grow concerned.

“Are you alright?” He leaned closer, still considering pulling the lute away. He couldn’t stand having it damaged by a bard having some sort of fit.

The bard’s hazel eyes flicked up to his frantically. “This is Jaskier’s lute.”

“Yes.” Geralt nodded, not confused and mildly alarmed as well. “It was.”

“Is.” The bard’s hand tightened slightly, not enough to damage the instrument but enough that the strings went taut where she gripped the neck. “Jaskier is—no. Julian Alfred Pankratz is dead. But—”

“You don’t have to remind me.” Geralt couldn’t stop the growl in his voice; he and Yennefer still visited and maintained the flower-adorned grave at Lettenhove, and the memorial in Oxenfurt. And the one at Kaer Morhen no one else knew about.

“No. Geralt—" Something about her voice gave Geralt pause.

No strangers just called him Geralt. It was Geralt of Rivia, Witcher, White Wolf, or Butcher, although that was incredibly rare now, thanks to… But never just Geralt, and that tone, something about her expression…

“Julian is dead. But Jaskier…” The bard’s eyes were wide. “I feel like I might be Jaskier. There’s feelings, and memories, and—" the bard shook her head. “I thought they were dreams, odd dreams of a gold-eyed man and a violet-eyed woman. But—" Her eyes snapped up to Geralt. “You and Yennefer.”

Geralt stood up cautiously. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but there was something here, and if it was some part of Jaskier... “We should go to her. She can help us figure this out.”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” The bard released the lute as if it had burned her hand. “This is a lot. I think I need to—I need to figure this out myself first.” She turned and nearly ran from the tavern.

“Wait.” But she was gone. Geralt clenched his hands in frustration. He released them with a sigh. Yennefer. She could have answers.

He found her after two days of riding Roach as fast as she would go. Giving the mare a thankful pat and promising to care for her afterwards, Geralt turned and near ran into the house Yennefer was in.

She looked up at his abrupt entrance. “Geralt? What is going on?”

“It’s—“ He hesitated, unsure where to begin. “Jaskier.”

Yennefer took a long look at him, no doubt taking in the clear signs of frantic travel and the half-crazed look in his eyes, then gestured at a chair. “Tell me everything.”

The story came in stops and starts, as short as it was. When he finished, Yennefer stood, a determined look on her face. “Let’s see if we can find her.” She opened a portal, and they stepped through.

There was only smoke. Yennefer waved a hand in front of her face, and Geralt pulled an arm in front of his. She looked over at him. “You’re sure this was the place?”

“Yes.” Geralt began to look around. Here and there he could see what might have been remnants of walls, and slowly it began to dawn on him. There’d been a war drawing nearer; had this…

Distantly, there was a sound through the smoke. “Take whatever you can get, and burn the rest!” There was a quick cheer, then the sound of military horns.

Geralt felt a sinking feeling and turned to Yennefer. “We need to get out of here.” Through the smoke, he was starting to make out...remains here and there in the ash. It didn’t look like there had been survivors, and if this army had possibly taken a second chance with Jaskier from Geralt and Yennefer…

She seemed to understand, because there was a mute nod and then another portal opened up, leading back to the house that Yennefer had been in.

Geralt stormed outside and began to tend to Roach, removing her saddle with possibly more force than necessary.

Yennefer drifted out after him, picking up the lute case from where Geralt had set it down more carefully, opening it to look at the lute and run a hand over it gently. “And you were sure?”

“Yes.” He patted Roach’s side in apology after a particularly rough movement brushing her down. “There was something about this bard, and when she touched the lute… It seemed to set something off.”

“You weren’t just nostalgic because some bold bard approached you? Or that you saw some resemblance because she was a descendent of one of the bastards he joked about having?” Yennefer was still focused on the lute, ignoring Geralt’s glare.

“No; there wasn’t a physical resemblance at all really. It was something else.” Geralt looked back to Roach. “There was a change once she touched the lute. I’m sure of it. And she mentioned dreams of us.”

Yennefer scoffed, but Geralt could hear the buried emotions. “Excuse me for double checking the possibility that it was just nostalgia in the man that calls all of his horses, regardless of what they look like, the same name. And as for the dreams...” She sighed, her voice softening. “We’re hardly unknown figures, Geralt. There’s enough of his songs still sung to make sure of that.”

The ache in Geralt’s chest felt tighter today. “Hmm.”

“It does still…it does still feel of him, somewhat.” Yennefer finally looked up, meeting Geralt’s eyes. “Could it be that somehow it sensed something familiar in a bard, and she got a connection from it?”

Geralt looked away from her. “All our knowledge of magic, and still some things we don’t know.”

“Magic is an attempt to control chaos. It can’t all be knowable.” Her expression was distant.

He studied Yennefer closely, something in her expression he couldn’t quite place. “But do you think it could be possible? That it could have somehow been possible?”

“Julian is dead, but Jaskier…” She trailed off, the words from the bard that had haunted Geralt causing her violet eyes to take on a curious light. “That he could be returning, but different? I don’t know.”

He was finished with Roach. “Hmm.” Geralt turned and walked into the house, noting the thoughtful pause before Yennefer followed him. Who could have known that a missing piece could have such a presence?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter's death: it's a war casualty, but it happens off screen (so to speak). Geralt leaves the town and it gets sacked. 
> 
> So I debated giving away in the summary that this was a reincarnation fic cuz I wondered how quickly people could work it out, but I decided sometimes you gotta let people know there'll be some comfort to follow the angst. So the real question is,how quickly do you think Geralt and Yennefer will be able to figure it out? 
> 
> Also, how are we feeling about the new promo pics? Geralt's new armor is highly questionable, but Ciri looks pretty badass.


	3. I’ll hold you close for comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Once again, the warning is in the end note; it's an "on-screen" death this chapter so as always, take care of yourselves.
> 
> Now, let's see what our favorite mage is up to...

Yennefer walked into town, aware of the strange looks she got. She’d heard of some areas adopting some new religion that was hostile to magic, but she’d never been certain those rumors were true.

Until she reached this little town. But she wouldn’t be staying long; she was simply passing through and needed some ingredients for a spell, ones that any common town apothecary would have. So she entered the apothecary’s shop, not letting the odd looks she was getting on the streets bother her.

Despite the rest of the town, the apothecary smiled at the sight of her, tucking vibrantly red curls behind his ear. “A mage! What has my humble shop done to earn the honor?”

“Simply existed along the path I was traveling.” Yennefer produced a list of ingredients she needed. “Do you have these?”

The apothecary looked the list over before looking at Yennefer. “Is this it? I do have more…exciting ingredients if you’re interested.”

Despite herself, Yennefer raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You’re trying to sell a mage magic? In a town that seems to despise both?”

The apothecary’s green eyes shined with mirth. “Danger’s exciting, and being the most dangerous person to come in here makes you by far the most exciting.” He gave Yennefer a once over, and his smile afterward felt almost familiar… But at Yennefer’s lack of response, he shrugged. “If this is all you’ll be needing, I’ll go gather it for you.”

Yennefer felt there was something here just out of reach, something she couldn’t quite grasp. She was so distracted by it she almost missed that the apothecary had started to hum.

It was familiar, if difficult to place. Where had she heard it? It felt like it had been a while….

It had been around 50 years, Yennefer realized. That song… it was the one Jaskier made up to go with her spell to redo something, the one that he always sang but never performed for others. How could this be possible?

The apothecary hummed on, oblivious.

Drawing on all of her training to remain calm and not alarm the man, Yennefer feigned nonchalance. “That’s a pretty tune. Where did you hear it?”

The apothecary paused, still holding a jar of something. “I…” He turned to Yennefer. “I’m not sure I did, actually. Hear it somewhere.” He smiled. “Odd as it sounds, I feel like it just…came to me.” He resumed his work. “Really it feels like there should be words with it somehow, but those haven’t shown up yet.”

“Do you like making songs as well as potions?” Yennefer’s mind was racing. It had been decades since that time Geralt said someone reminded him impossibly of Jaskier. They’d never quite figured it out, excusing it as grief and moving past it. But here…could her grief be getting the better of her?

“I do.” The apothecary smiled in a way that made his cheeks crinkle, highlighting his freckles. “If I hadn’t inherited this shop and had to help run it from a child, I always thought about learning an instrument, maybe finding somewhere to play.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Maybe even traveling.”

Yennefer’s mind still raced. She wasn’t sure what led to her saying what came next. “I have a lute from a dear friend. You could try it, if you’d like? Something tells me you’d be a natural.”

His eyes lit up. “That would be wonderful, Yennefer.” He slid the neatly packaged ingredients across the counter. “These are on the house. Or maybe we can discuss payment when I see you again.” The accompanying wink felt almost too much, but in an oddly charming way. 

“Maybe.” Yennefer smiled despite herself at the return of the flirty attitude. The apothecary was cute after all.

She was out the door before she even realized she’d never actually told the apothecary her name. Yennefer froze; she needed to get to Geralt, and the lute. Once she was outside the town, she opened a portal.

Geralt was only momentarily surprised at her entrance. “Yennefer?” Something about her expression must have given her away, because he stood, almost alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

She looked around for the lute case before looking at Geralt. “Do you remember years ago when a bard claimed to be Jaskier? And there was something that made you believe her?”

Geralt’s expression turned guarded. “Yes.”

“I think it’s happening again.” She looked around, finally spotting the lute case resting with Roach’s saddlebags and grabbing it. “We need to try this.” She opened another portal, this time directly into the shop, and stepped through, holding the lute in one hand and Geralt’s hand with the other.

The apothecary was not behind the counter this time, instead doing something in the front of the shop. He looked up in surprise. “Yennefer? And Geralt?”

By the tug in her hand, Yennefer could tell that Geralt had straightened at his name. Yennefer squeezed his hand before releasing it. “I never told you our names. How did you know?”

“Well…” The apothecary looked a bit embarrassed. “If you must know, it’s the songs. I know they’re pretty old now, but I’ve always felt drawn to them.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked to Yennefer, then at the lute case in her hand.

Having known each other over a century now, Yennefer understood, and was thinking the same. She extended the lute case cautiously, with two hands. “Still interested in playing?”

The apothecary’s eyes lit up. “Of course!” He opened the case, gasping at the sight within. “Jaskier’s lute. It’s beautiful, just as I always imagined.” He reached out, about to touch it, when the door slammed open.

“You!” The man who entered seemed angry, and through the door there was a peek of a crowd who seemed equally unhappy. “You’ve always been suspicious with your odd songs and potions and poultices, but consorting with a mage and a witcher?”

The apothecary shut the lute case and pushed it back to Yennefer, turning to smile at the man. “Well there hasn’t been any consorting.” The wink he tossed back at Yennefer and Geralt seemed to suggest a “yet,” but he was serious as he turned back to the man at the door. “Constable, my family has been working here for generations. We’ve helped many in this town; why the alarm now?”

“Because you’ve crossed a line.” He lunged forward, a previously unseen blade moving with alarming speed toward the apothecary’s abdomen.

Yennefer and Geralt moved without speaking, him stepping forward and using a quick aard sign to give them space from further attack and grabbing the apothecary’s shoulder while Yennefer opened a portal behind them, backing through and closing it once they were all clear.

They both turned to the apothecary, who had a hand pressed to his stomach. His stomach, where red was rapidly staining the pale green of his tunic. He looked down and coughed. “It’s a shame, I really liked this one.”

“Fuck.” Geralt moved to catch him as he collapsed.

His eyes flashed to Yennefer. “May I still see the lute?”

“Of course.” Yennefer knelt by their side, her legs brushing Geralt’s where they knelt on the ground as he cradled the apothecary. Yennefer opened the case, carefully removing the instrument within and handing it over gingerly.

There was a content sigh as it settled into his hands, and despite the cough there was a smile on his face, if after a moment’s silence. He looked between them, and something in his eyes seemed…older. “Thanks for getting me, even if it may have been too late.”

Yennefer frantically looked at the apothecary’s abdomen, where the red stain grew larger. She tried to focus, push her energy and chaos into knitting flesh, but she could feel the emotion affecting her control, and the wound was deep, and her adrenaline faded as the energy of portalling back and forth rapidly with little rest started to catch up to her. She clenched her teeth. “It’s not working!” 

A gentle hand with calluses in the wrong places (not from lute playing, from another life) yet still familiar in its touch, landed on her arm, and Yennefer met green eyes, different yet familiar in their gaze. “It’s ok, darling. I have to learn to avoid danger at some point, right?”

“You always did love it a bit too much; I guess that didn’t change.” Yennefer’s voice caught in her throat, and she heard the low noise Geralt made but couldn’t quite decipher it.

The green eyes, wrong but familiar, turned to Geralt next. “Too bad I didn’t have a dagger myself this time, huh dearheart?”

Geralt stayed silent, his hands clenching tighter on the apothecary’s shoulders. 

“Just hold me as I go; you can’t imagine the comfort it brings to see you both again. I think I missed you without knowing what I was missing, last time too.” Impossibly old green eyes turned serious, and deep with emotion. "I still love you both so much." The apothecary smiled, pushing the lute back to the case. “Keep taking care of her. You’ve done well so far.” Another shuddering breath, and then…

Yennefer looked up at Geralt, knowing that the torn open scar in her probably mirrored one in him.

Later, they sat over a grave enchanted to grow flowers: buttercups and dandelions.

“He knew the spell song. That’s how I suspected.” Yennefer broke the silence, her knees held to her chest.

Geralt looked to her. “The spell song?”

“The one Jaskier made up when I made the spell to redo an experience after you told us about Blaviken. He sang it all the time, but never for anyone but us.” She didn’t look at Geralt.

“Hmm.” She could feel his eyes turn to her. “But what about the lute? That’s what we suspected last time.”

“Maybe…” The pieces that hadn’t quite fit before felt closer now. She turned to Geralt. “What if it’s both?”

“How?” Geralt, guarded as he was after an emotional day, didn’t seem against the idea.

“Both are tied to him. And both...” Yennefer sat upright as it occurred to her. “He got the lute from Filavandrel, right?”

“Yes.” Geralt turned toward her. “Back during the first time he came with me, in Posada.”

“An elven lute, and words spoken in Elder, the language of the elves, who were the first to wield chaos… If they were to somehow react with each other, even if Jaskier didn’t have inherent control himself…” Yennefer felt a strange satisfaction as it seemed to come together. “They could have still played off each other, and still be tied to Jaskier.”

“The spell did have an effect.” Geralt was right with her. “But not as planned. It was twenty years after Jaskier’s death when I met the bard, who was a young woman…”

“And thirty years from then, when I met him.” Yennefer looked to the grave. The age of the man they just buried would seem to line up…

“Then the spell isn’t to redo an experience after all.” Geralt shifted closer to her.

“No, I suppose I got it wrong.” Yennefer looked away from the grave and to Geralt. “It’s for reincarnation.”

Geralt wrapped an arm around her, the revelation settling over them both. “We may find Jaskier again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is one of the more graphic deaths (but probably ok if canon-typical violence is ok with you); this Jaskier gets stabbed and Geralt and Yennefer hold him as he bleeds out (Yennefer is too drained to heal him).
> 
> Well, the magic got a little less hand-wavy and more explained this week. I don't know if anyone was theorizing or if you trusted me to have an idea, but did anyone guess how it all worked?
> 
> Next chapter is going to be long, just heads up. Will that be good news for our characters? You'll find out next week....


	4. Wearing my best dress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! We've got a long chapter in store for you today, but also more warnings in the end note. This time it's for the death and a scene that could be read as dubcon, so please take care of yourselves.

They were traveling together for once, and stopped in an inn in a medium sized town. In the seventy-five years since Jaskier’s death, they’d stopped traveling together as much, going their separate ways more often. But ever since their last…encounter, as it was, they were more alert. If there was a chance they could find Jaskier again, whatever form that would take, they didn’t want to miss it. Or only find out too late again.

But they weren’t really looking, at the moment. Their travels just happened to align, so they traveled together. It was nice, less lonely, even if neither would admit it.

A stout woman greeted them behind the counter at the tavern on the ground floor of the inn. Her dark brown eyes lit up in excitement. “A witcher and a mage. This is already the most exciting thing to happen here.”

“We’re just here to rent a room.” Geralt pulled out a coin purse from his belt.

“Aww.” The innkeeper frowned. “And here I thought we were finally getting something interesting here.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow; this was an unusual reaction. “Most are more apprehensive at seeing a mage or a witcher, let alone the two traveling together.”

The frown shifted to a smirk, lightning quick. “Even when the mage and witcher look like you two? That’s hard to believe.”

Yennefer and Geralt shared a look out of the corner of their eyes, around a hundred and thirty years of knowing each other rendering even mind reading irrelevant. They both knew who the innkeeper reminded the other of in that moment. Geralt turned back to the innkeeper. “Perhaps we’ll stay for a few nights. We’re in no rush.”

“Excellent!” The innkeeper clapped excitedly, the slight jump and grin accompanying it making the dark updo on her head jostle. “I may pester you two for stories; I’ve been trying to write some songs lately but just can’t find the inspiration.”

“You don’t say.” Yennefer exchanged a look with Geralt, then smiled slightly at the innkeeper. “Well we’ve played muse before, so it’s no hardship here. But for now, could you show us to our room?”

\-----

“So do you think she’s the latest Jaskier?” Yennefer took a sip of her wine; they were in the corner booth of the tavern space on the lower floor of the inn, watching the innkeeper prepare an instrument in the corner.

Geralt, as always, sat with his back to the wall. “Hard to tell, but it seems promising. Do you think the age lines up?”

Yennefer squinted in the dim light. “It’s been what, twenty-five years? I’d say so.” She looked back to Geralt. “The lute’s the ultimate test though.”

“Hmm.” Geralt had grown…protective of the lute, Yennefer had noticed. Even more so than before. If it was the way to reawaken Jaskier in whatever new incarnation the bard took, Yennefer could understand. “Maybe the performance will help us decide.”

“It can’t hurt.” Yennefer turned to watch, the show finally starting.

The opening song, with a notable wink to their current corner, was _Toss a Coin_. It was followed by one of Jaskier’s more popular songs about Yennefer, before switching to a mix of songs that were more popular now.

Her interest waning, Yennefer turned to Geralt. “What do you think?”

“Hard to tell.” Geralt was still watching the innkeeper, his golden eyes tracking her every movement. “The first songs were Jaskier songs, but well known ones.”

“But old now.” Yennefer snorted. “Toss a Coin was written almost 150 years ago.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked at her. “So how would we know?”

“There was a feeling last time, right? I had it with the apothecary, and you had it with the other bard.” Yennefer watched Geralt, continuing when he nodded. “So we see if we get that feeling, and if it comes to it with test with the lute.”

Geralt was about to respond, but tensed as the innkeeper began a new song.

It was familiar to both of them; _The Ballad of Blaviken_. For all that Yennefer knew Geralt was nervous about any more attention on that…incident, by the time Jaskier wrote his song just over fifty years had passed, and the bard did it justice from the story Geralt had told. Renfri was a troubled heroine, cursed not by birth but by circumstances that forced her into uncontrolled rage at what had been stolen from her. Geralt was presented as kind and noble, trying to save who he could when faced with an impossible choice. And Stregobor…

Yennefer thought that Jaskier did his character justice, truly. A coward, willing to let others die to further his own ends, unmistakably the villain of the story. 

Yennefer sipped her wine. “I know it’s been around a hundred years, but I never will forget when Jaskier got to play this at Aretuza.”

Geralt huffed in what would probably be a laugh from anyone else. “You mean when he outshone a class of newly ascended mages meeting their new royal hosts?”

“I truly thought Stregobor might collapse on the spot, and from the look I remember Jaskier giving him I think he wanted the old bastard to.” Yennefer smiled fondly at the memory.

Geralt’s face dropped slightly. “I did genuinely think Stregobor would try to harm him for a moment there.”

“He wouldn’t try with the both of us there.” Yennefer smirked. “I think Tissaia would have been glad for the excuse to take out centuries of frustration on Stregobor though. If he’d never weaseled his way into widespread influence with the other mages and courts, I think she would have turned him into an eel or something long ago.” Yennefer smiled at her own joke, but hid it behind her goblet as she took another sip.

Geralt was quiet. “I suppose Stregobor did get some measure of revenge though.”

The wine soured in Yennefer’s mouth at the reminder, which was also likely the reason for the tension in Geralt’s shoulders. After that banquet, Stregobor had hired a bard to copy the song, changing the lyrics to reflect more positively on himself. Jaskier had been incensed, declaring that now Stregobor had personally wronged all three of them. They’d had to work together convince Jaskier that fit as he was, a mid-sixties human would be no match for a well-resourced mage, ancient as he may be, in a duel. Jaskier’s final protest had been making sure every student he taught at Oxenfurt had the true version of the song, and telling them to spread it wide. Both versions ended up circulating the continent, although they faded with time. 

Yennefer looked at Geralt. It had sounded like their version of the song, but they’d know soon enough. “We may get an answer to our question sooner rather than later.”

As if cued, the innkeeper reached the climax of the song.

_But who, then is the true Butcher?  
Is it the e’er-noble witcher,   
who tried to save the town,   
or is the wizard, a coward   
who tore apart daughters of the crown?_

Yennefer and Geralt’s eyes met. That was the real version of the song, Jaskier’s version. Could it be the proof they needed?

A silent agreement passed between them. The lute was upstairs, but…

At the next break, the innkeeper came by their table, her dark eyes beaming. “So, having traveled with a legendary bard yourselves, I can’t help but ask what you thought of my performance.” 

It would be like Jaskier to pick that out as the noteworthy story of them. Yennefer smiled. “You were quite impressive.”

A massive grin split her face. “Oh, thank you! I’m no master though.”

“Hmm.” Not a dismissal, not an affirmation. Geralt turned to the innkeeper. “I noticed your rendition of _The Ballad of Blaviken_. The version you chose.”

“It’s not a true choice!” Something hard to read crossed her face before it settled, a trace of anger remaining. “The other version always feels…wrong, somehow. A cheap bastardization of an incredible song. Nothing more than a cowardly attempt to twist the tale, just like that cowardly bastard of a mage did back when it happened.” 

Nearly those same phrases had come from Jaskier a century earlier. Yennefer looked at Geralt, her decision made. They’d just have to get the lute and—

“Mama! Mama!” Two young voices cried out and the inkeeper turned, just in time to catch two small children who hurled into her legs. 

“Boys!” There was excitement in her voice. “Are you back from the woods with your father already?”

“We are.” A tall, broad shouldered man walked up and slid a hand around her waist before leaning in for a kiss. 

Geralt and Yennefer looked at each other again. This was…unexpected.

The inkeeper and her husband—or whoever he was—broke the kiss, but their hands stayed on each other’s waists. She turned to him, excited. “This is Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerburg, from the songs!”

He looked less excited than she had at that, but Yennefer supposed most people were apprehensive of them, even if they welcomed them. He turned to the innkeeper. “We had a successful hunt; there’s a whole deer in the kitchen. Why don’t you tend to it while I get the boys to bed?”

“Of course.” She leaned in for another quick kiss, then looked back at Geralt and Yennefer. “Well, I suppose it was nice getting to play for you while I could. But it’s good you’re staying around; we’ll be eating well tomorrow. But I should get going.” She gave them a wave, then left with the rest of the family, leaving Geralt and Yennefer alone at their table. 

Jaskier never failed to surprise them, it seemed.

\-----

They’d retired to their room for the night. Yennefer was pacing while Geralt sat on the bed. “Are we sure that she’s Jaskier?”

Yennefer shot him a look. “We were pretty damn certain initially.”

“Maybe the music isn’t the indicator we thought.” Geralt’s eyes followed Yennefer, but both of their minds were elsewhere. “Jaskier’s music was very popular in his time, and some of that must have lasted to today. Some of his last students might still be out performing, or maybe some of them became teachers like him.”

“But we both know it was more than that.” Yennefer paused, standing in front of him. “Why are you suddenly doubting?”

Geralt looked away; he didn’t want to say it, but a lifetime (or longer, by some people’s standards) of her, Jaskier, and Ciri trying to talk him into talking made him. “I don’t want to be too late again.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Yennefer stepped forward, crouching down to be at eye level. “I don’t either. But we don’t know if we’re truly too late this time.” Her hand touched his face gently, and her tone took on an almost joking edge. “I mean, this time the maybe-Jaskier isn’t actively dying or dead, just married. And we don’t know what sort of arrangement they have. Maybe seeing other people is ok.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked away again, but didn’t lean out of her hand. “They have children, Yen. people with children don’t tend to like others in their bed.”

“Then we’ll do it in this bed instead.” Yennfer laughed, waiting for Geralt to glare at her. “And when couples are trying to have children, the worry about sleeping with another is whose child it would truly be. That’s not really a concern that either of us would plausibly introduce.”

It was true, but it tied into another concern Geralt had never truly considered, tied into other insecurities. “Do you think he wanted that? Back then, the first time around?”

Yennefer finally sat down next to him on the bed, her hand resting on Geralt’s knee. “If he did, he probably would have just stayed at court and made some heirs, like some people probably wanted him too. Or he could have actually sought out the bastards he joked about having and quite possibly did have out there. But he chose to be with us.” He could hear her smile when she spoke next. “And it’s not like the three of us never did any parenting. Raising Ciri was a group effort.” Yennefer smiled, then paused. “Once we figure this situation out, we should tell her.” 

“Be good proof to her that we aren’t losing it like she thought when we told her about all of this.” Geralt smiled at that, but some part of him still resisted. “But Ciri was already nearly grown when she came to us. And she wasn’t truly ours, not in the way…” He thought of how the two boys had the inkeeper’s dark hair and wide smile, and wondered what a child with Jaskier’s blue eyes and melodic voice would have been like. “Not like that.”

“She’d kick your ass for in any way insinuating we aren’t her parents.” He could hear Yennefer’s smile again. “Besides, infants and young ones are difficult from what I understand. We wouldn’t need that, being on the road as we’ve always been. Can you imagine him caring for an infant like that? He’d get gods-know-what on one of his nice doublets and we’d have never heard the end of it.”

Geralt felt himself chuckle at the mental image, then paused at something he heard. It was distant, faint, but…

Yennefer seemed to notice the change in mood. “What is it?”

“She’s putting the children to bed. Singing them to sleep.” Geralt turned to Yennefer, gold eyes meeting violet. “It’s the song. The one Jaskier would sing when Ciri had nightmares.”

“Ok.” Yennefer nodded solemnly. “She must be Jaskier then. So what now?”

The lute was here, in the room with them. They could go to her, see if the effect came through once more, but… “Should we? She seems happy.”

Yennefer shifted. “Jaskier would be happy with us.”

“But each life has seemed different. The bard…traveling bards always want adventure and seek out ways to do so. The apothecary told you he was tired of his town. But here…” Geralt looked down at his hands.

“She seemed happy enough to see us.” Still, there was doubt in Yennefer’s voice.

“Being a…reincarnation, or whatever, of Jaskier doesn’t mean an obligation to us.” Geralt shifted uncomfortably.

Without looking at him, Yennefer slapped his arm. “Stop making people’s choices for them. We’ve talked about this.”

Geralt sighed, because they had. Back in that conversation in the woods when the three of them got together, and everything changed for the better. And other times besides. “So do we tell her?”

Yennefer hummed as she thought. “We give her the lute. And then we let her decide.”

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t like leaving things to fate, but he supposed the force that led Jaskier, Yennefer, and Ciri into his life couldn’t be all bad. “We’ll try tomorrow.” 

\-----

The next day had them gathering in a courtyard between the inn and the stables. Geralt almost wanted to go to Roach as that would feel…grounding, perhaps. But he and Yennefer had agreed to meet the innkeeper here, so they would.

“Stop staring at the stables, you can go spend time with Roach after this.” Yennefer’s hands clenched on Jaskier’s lute case as she looked over at him. “And before you ask, I didn’t read your mind for that. I just know you.”

Geralt looked away with a grunt.

Before they could respond, the innkeeper came out to join them, smiling widely. “I’m so glad you two agreed to meet with me! I can’t wait to hear all of the stories you have to tell.”

Yennefer smiled. “And we will gladly tell them. Isn’t that right Geralt?” She shot him a look.

He nodded. He still wasn’t quite sold on this, but he didn’t want to contradict Yennefer and negatively impact the innkeeper’s mood.

Apparently satisfied, Yennefer turned to the innkeeper. “By the way, I don’t think we got your name last night.”

“Elsa.” She smiled again. “I suppose I jumped right into knowing your names, didn’t I?”

“It’s alright.” Geralt looked at her, not picking up any discomfort but wanting to soothe anyways. “Our names are widely known, as you have pointed out.”

“Comes from having songs written about you.” She smiled more, seeming excited once more. “Sure you won’t mind a few more?”

“Not from the right bard. Speaking of,” Yennefer held out the lute, now freed from its case, “this belonged to Jaskier; would you like to try it?”

She gasped. “May I?”

“Yes.” Geralt looked towards it, then at her. “We don’t offer it to just anyone.”

“Then I’d be honored.” She reached out, carefully taking it and running her hands over it as she took a seat across from them. “I can’t believe I’m holding Jaskier’s lute. You’ve maintained it remarkably well.” She looked up at them with a smile, then something else crossed her face. “Wait, Filavandrel’s lute originally at least, wasn’t it? Or…” There was a long silence, then she nearly dropped the lute in shock, only to clutch it to her chest. “Or…mine?” Leaving it on her lap, she pressed her hands to her head.

Geralt and Yennefer both leaned forward, Yennefer cautiously reaching out. “Elsa?”

When she looked up, her eyes seemed…older. “Why would you do this to me?”

“What?” Yennefer sat back as Elsa carefully set down the lute then jumped up and began pacing.

Her hands went up to her head, then back to her side, fingers fidgeting in a way that looked familiar. “I was happy. Sure, I had the odd dreams—or memories, they were memories, weren’t they? Of Julian, of Leona the next bard, of Daniel the apothecary…” She looked at them, conflict clear in her face. “I’d let myself forget by the time I left bed. But I can’t now. But I have a husband and children, I can’t just go wander the Continent with you. But now I want to, more than I may have before, when I was content to just take in the travelers’ tales as they passed through my inn. But now…” She looked at them. “Why?”

Yennefer crossed her arms. “I thought you should be able to have the choice.”

“I didn’t want to disturb your life.” Geralt didn’t feel as satisfied about that as he might have expected. Because he was right, but…

Elsa’s eyes whipped to him. “You better not still be thinking you don’t deserve happiness.”

Geralt looked away. “This isn’t about me.”

Elsa let out a noise of frustration, looking between them. “Was this why I was so excited to see you yesterday? Because some part of me remembers…remembers being…” something in her voice shifted, going softer. “Remembers being yours?”

Geralt and Yennefer were quiet a moment before Yennefer looked up, violet eyes meeting the inkeeper’s dark brown. “It’s hard to say; magic is chaos and this is something I’d never heard of before. And we haven’t exactly gotten to have conversations about it, with the last two.”

“Yes.” Elsa smirked sardonically. “It’s like all the times the first Jaskier cheated death decided to catch up at once.” She paused thoughtfully. “Or twice, I suppose.”

“It didn’t end well.” Geralt looked between the two women. “Which is why caution is good.”

“Don’t blame yourselves.” Elsa waved a hand, then finally sat down, pulling the lute onto her lap once more. “Life is just complicated sometimes. Ninety or so years the first time around was unlikely.”

“You seem to be processing all of this well.” Yennefer shifted, adjusting the skirt of her gown over her knees. “So what do you think then? Of us? We’ve missed you; whatever form you take there’s still this…spark.”

She smiled wistfully. “I’m not sure we can, this time around. I’m married.”

“Marriage never stopped the first Jaskier.” Geralt’s hands clenched in his lap.

“It did though, if he knew both partners wouldn’t agree to it. Maybe not as much earlier on, but he—I?—whatever—did have some sense. Still, people sometimes took advantage of his trust on that, knowing they wouldn’t have to deal with the cuckolded spouses.” Elsa smiled, more genuine this time.

“I dealt with the spouses.” As annoying as it had been at the time, Geralt smiled at the memory now.

“Putting that intimidation to good use.” Elsa smiled, then straightened up though. “But this is a different life, for me at least.”

“You were the one who taught us about alternate arrangements.” Yennefer had a certain glint in her eyes. “Time has passed, but the choice can still lie with us if we want it to.”

“I’m making my choice.” Elsa leaned back, something sad in her eyes even as she smiled. “The most I’ll extend in this life is friendship. You’re welcome and encouraged to stay at the inn any time you like, free of charge.” Her smile turned a bit more genuine. “Except perhaps a story. But…” She looked away, chewing her lip. “I’ve made promises, ones I intend to keep. But you’ll always have somewhere safe here.”

Geralt nodded solemnly. “Loyalty was always one of Jaskier’s best traits; I’m glad to see it lasted throughout lifetimes.”

Something in Yennefer’s eyes looked like she wanted to protest, but after a moment her shoulders slumped. “Giving you the choice means respecting when it’s been made, I suppose. But if you were ever to change your mind…” She raised one eyebrow.

Elsa smiled. “Then you two would be the first to know. But I don’t see it happening anytime soon.” There was a beat of silence, then she looked back to them, hands shifting over the lute. “Now, it’s been a few lifetimes since this lute was properly played, although you two do seem to taking proper care of her, so how about we share some stories, and I see if these hands can get her to play just as prettily?”

\-----

After a few days there, Geralt heard of a contract a few towns away. It had been good, catching up with Jaskier—whatever form that may be—and even getting to hear a bit about the lives they’d missed. It was odd, and a bit painful to think of all the missed opportunities, but…good.

It was interesting, to see the threads of the Jaskier he and Yennefer had originally known that got woven into each life. And frustrating, that they never seemed to get there in time to become a part of the tapestry of those lives.

Geralt snorted. Jaskier—the first one at least—would have liked that. He was getting poetic now.

Yennefer looked up at the noise. “What is it?”

“Thinking about Jaskier. How he’d already be trying to write a song about this, if he were here.” It wasn’t quite what he was thinking, but as much as Yennefer brought out his vulnerabilities Geralt didn’t feel like sharing this.

“He is, in a way.” Yennefer looked over to the wall of their room as if she could see through it to where Elsa was probably working downstairs. “Maybe there will be a song about it yet.”

“Hmm.” Geralt wondered if songs written by this version of Jaskier would still carry the elements he recognized from the first Jaskier’s songs; music had changed in the time since Jaskier passed, had changed throughout his life really, but would there still be bits Geralt would recognize?

Deciding to take that for a sign to change topics, Yennefer looked at Geralt. “Will you be looking into that contract? The one nearby?”

“Yes.” Geralt looked around the room, considering if he had everything he’d need or if he’d need to stop somewhere for supplies based on what he expected to be facing. He paused, looking at Yennefer. “Will you be coming?”

“Not sure.” Yennefer sat back where she was lounging on the bed. “Might seek out Triss, see if she has a lover now or not. I feel like being with a woman for a bit.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I wonder why.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Surely you’re disappointed too. We finally get here before the deadly bad luck does, and we lose out to a marriage?”

“Hmm.” Geralt began gathering his things. “We agreed to respect her choice.”

“I know.” He could hear Yennefer rolling her shoulders as she pushed herself up, finally standing. “To think there was a point where I had to lecture you on that. Although you were always good at denying yourself what was there, especially with Jaskier.”

“Don’t.” It was an old argument, but still sore. What would have happened if he’d given in to Jaskier’s clumsy advances in Posada instead of letting over two decades pass? How much would their lives have changed? But the friendship with Jaskier had been good, rewarding in its own right. And if he’d been with Jaskier, would he have gotten with Yennefer? Would either of them?

He was dragged out of this thoughts by a faintly musical sound, and saw Yennefer holding the lute. Elsa had carefully tuned it when she played it, admonishing them for lacking in that area of care. Yennefer looked up at him. “What should we do with it? Should we let her…”

It had been a comfort to Geralt to have it over these years. To have that reminder of Jaskier, and the adventures they’d been on together. But really, they’d been caretakers of it more than anything… “We can offer.”

\-----

Downstairs, they approached the counter together. Yennefer spoke. “We want to offer you something. Upstairs though, in our room.”

Elsa’s eyebrows rose. “I already said—”

“It’s not that.” Geralt shot Yennefer a look.

“But the offer stands, if you were to change your mind.” Yennefer winked.

Seemingly despite herself, Elsa smiled back. “I know.” She looked between Yennefer and Geralt, then around the tavern. “It seems quiet enough down here. I’ll join you.”

They led her up to the room, where their things were already packed. Geralt turned around. “There’s a contract nearby; I’ll be leaving this afternoon.”

Yennefer stood next to him. “I’ll be doing my own thing, but I’ll be leaving as well.”

“Okay.” Elsa looked between them. “I already told you I won’t accept payment for the rooms, no matter how long or how often either of you stay here.”

“We know, and we thank you for that. But there’s something else we want to give you, if you want it.” After one last glance at Geralt for confirmation, Yennefer reached behind her for the lute case.

Elsa gasped. “I can’t.”

Geralt rested his hand on the case, extending it toward her. “It’s more yours than ours, rightfully.”

Her hand slowly reached out, resting on it reverently. Her dark eyes darted between the two of them. “But what if something happens to it? So many people can come through the inn, and the boys—”

“I might have added several protective enchantments to ensure the lute’s longevity.” Yennefer looked at the case for a moment. “Not sure I was the first one to though; this isn’t my area of expertise but I don’t think one instrument usually lasts someone’s entire lifetime, especially with how long Jaskier lived and the conditions it must have been exposed to.”

Geralt shrugged. “It is Elven.”

“True. Maybe it was an apology for breaking my original lute.” Elsa smiled at that, and for a moment the resemblance was there, even it it was fleeting. She looked between them a moment before finally reaching out with her other hand and taking the lute case, cradling it to her chest. “Alright. I’ll keep it. An instrument this fine deserves to be played, even if I probably will keep it away from the rest of the people in the inn.”

“We trust you with it.” Yennefer nodded approvingly. “It was probably the original Jaskier’s most prized possession, so I imagine even with a few lifetimes of change a spark of that protectiveness remains.”

Geralt looked at how she was clutching it to her chest and smiled. “I’d say so.”

Elsa grinned at that. “Good to see you smile.” She looked between them. “I’ll be seeing you again then? Sometime?”

Geralt and Yennefer exchanged a glance, not needing a word before turning back and nodding. “We’ll be back.”

\-------

They made good on their promise; many times over. Sometimes Geralt, sometimes Yennefer, sometimes Ciri or whatever other family or friends from Jaskier’s first lifetime that were still around. But mostly Geralt and Yennefer. Whenever they passed through that area, individually or separately, they tended to stop, if only for a night. Still, it was enough that Elsa joked that they were honorary aunt and uncle to her children; it never quite stuck, but the all-too-familiar mischievous glint in her eyes when she joked about made it all worth it.

About twenty-five years in, Geralt and Yennefer again arrived at the inn together. But there was something different this time, something melancholy in the mood of the whole place.

It set Geralt on edge, and he was relieved to see Elsa was still there at the tavern when they arrived, although today it was one of her children that gave them the key for their usual room. It had been odd to watch the small boy they’d first seen grow into the young man before them, now older than his mother had been when they’d met her, but today his usually bright expression (inherited from his mother) was gone. 

Yennefer eyed him carefully. “Aleksander, what happened?”

His expression was grave. “My father passed a month ago.” He looked past them, presumably watching his mother. “She hasn’t been the same since.”

“Oh.” Yennefer looked at Geralt, and then they both looked back at where Elsa sat in a corner of the tavern. They turned back to Aleksander. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“He was a good man.” Geralt nodded at Aleksander. He and Yennefer had never gotten particularly close with the boy’s father; he seemed wary of them from the start, and even if Elsa apparently never told him the whole story he seemed uneasy with the connection they had with her. But he’d never been openly hostile to them, and had started to warm up to them after a while.

It seemed they’d never get a chance for full friendship now though. Nothing left to say at the moment, Geralt and Yennefer retreated to their room before coming back down to the tavern for dinner.

They sat in their usual corner booth, watching and waiting for when Elsa would usually begin to play. After a much longer, more subdued period than usual, she finally stood.

The song was unfamiliar. It dealt with death, and Geralt wondered if it was a recent song; Jaskier had always dealt with his emotions through music, and in the years they’d known her Elsa had seemed no different. The crowd was quiet throughout the song, listening as she reached the chorus, accompanying herself on an instrument Geralt didn’t recognize.

_I’ll kiss you once for life,  
I’ll kiss you twice for death,  
Hold you close for comfort,  
Wearing my best dress._

The song continued, hinting at a possible reunion but staying somber overall. At the end the crowd showed their appreciation, but the overall mood remained much the same.

The change came when, at the end of the night, Elsa made her way to their table. Her eyes were red and had heavy bags under them, but she stood confidently. “Does the offer still stand?”

They’d stopped mentioning it years ago, decades maybe, but Geralt and Yennefer both knew they would accept if she asked. But tonight… Geralt turned to her seriously. “Are you sure? You’re grieving.”

Her smile was bittersweet. “I want a night of comfort. A night to forget.”

Yennefer’s eyes were nervous when they met Geralt, but she nodded. “If this is truly what you want.”

“It is.” She turned to the stairs, pausing as they moved to follow her. “But in your room; I couldn’t where he and I…”

“It’s ok.” Geralt laid a hand on her shoulder. “After Jaskier passed the first time around, we could barely set foot at the house in Oxenfurt. Let alone…”

“We still have it though.” Yennefer’s hand came to her other shoulder as they climbed up the stairs. “If you ever wanted a change of scenery, or maybe to bring back some very old memories.”

“Maybe.” She smiled at them weakly as they opened the door to their room. “But I don’t want to think of the future now. I just want to think of tonight.”

“We’re here for you.” Geralt closed the door behind them. “However you need us, we’re here.”

“Yes, we’ve been here before.” Yennefer smiled weakly, holding out a hand to invite Elsa to sit with her on the bed. “After Jaskier—the first you that is, died, and after we threw a fittingly outrageous and mildly inappropriate funeral, things changed between us. We’re still together of course, but…it’s different. We’re together less. Other partners are more allowed.”

Elsa shook her head. “I can’t imagine a century of this. It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“Grief always takes time, and some days will be better than others.” Geralt sat on Elsa’s other side on the bed. “Whatever you need, we’re here.” He rested a hand on her lower back in support.

Taking a deep breath, she leaned in and kissed Yennefer, holding her face as she pulled away. “Give me a night to forget.” She looked back at Geralt, moving a hand to his leg. “To not think about any of it.”

Violet eyes met Geralt’s over Elsa’s shoulder. “We can do that.”

Slowly, carefully, almost reverently, hands moved to buttons and ties, always watching for signs to stop but never getting any. As the initial doubt eased lips met lips, and hands got bolder, moving in familiar and unfamiliar ways over familiar and unfamiliar bodies. Soon, more than just hands were moving together, bringing pleasure that echoed with memories but was also entirely new until everyone was settling back into familiar sheets, sated and tired in more ways than one.

\-----

The next morning, Yennefer awoke to limbs pulling away from hers. She blinked awake to Elsa climbing over Geralt, who sat against the headboard of the bed to also watch as Elsa gathered her clothes. Yennefer shifted towards him, not bothering to cover herself with the sheet. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. No. I—“ Elsa’s hands clenched on the fabric she was holding as she looked over at them, emotions warring in her eyes. “Last night was…incredible. But it can never happen again.”

“Why?” Yennefer shifted to get out of the bed, but stopped at Geralt’s hand on her thigh.

Elsa chewed her lip a moment before speaking, a painfully familiar nervous tick, if one limited to this lifetime. “I needed the comfort. And gods, was it good. You two are so important to me, in a way that transcends lifetimes. But…”

“But we aren’t that love for you,” Geralt shifted, his free hand tangling in the sheet on his lap, “not in this life. Not like he was.”

A tension in her shoulders eased as Elsa exhaled. “Yes.” She looked around the room, redressing as she gathered the last of her things. “When I woke up this morning, all the warmth of last night was gone, replaced by worry.” She let out a nervous laugh, a hand catching in her hair as she nibbled her lip again. “I mean, what will I tell the children?”

“Tell them you were up talking with old friends.” Yennefer leaned against Geralt, her fingers lacing with his on her thigh. “A night of comfort can mean many things, and I think your inn is sufficiently soundproof that no one has to know what we did last night.”

“Lie to them?” Elsa’s nerves could be seen in how her fingers fidgeted as she dressed, that tick much older than she was. “I’m not sure I want to do that.”

“Whatever you want to do is what we’ll go with.” Geralt’s words and steady voice seemed to soothe her.

When she finally turned around, fully dressed, all the fidgeting had ceased, and there was something approaching certainty in her eyes. “Then this’ll be our secret.” She took a deep breath and looked between the two of them. “You’re both still welcome here as long as you’d like, whenever you like, free of charge. But this,” she gestured between the three of them, “won’t happen again.” She turned to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. “Thank you again, for everything.” Without another look back, she left.

After a beat of silence, Yennefer squeezed Geralt’s hand. “That was…unexpected.”

Geralt snorted. “Which part?”

Yennefer paused. “All of it, maybe.” She took a breath, not looking at Geralt. “We lost him near a century ago—”

“100 years this year.” Geralt’s voice was quiet.

“—and we never thought we’d get another chance; painful as it was we thought that was it.” Yennefer squeezed Geralt’s hand again, finally looking at him. Geralt himself was about 250 years old now; would time come for him the way it never would for her? Was it already, in ways hidden behind white hair and scars? “I don’t know what to do with loss.”

As if he were the one who could read minds, Geralt’s hand untangled from hers so he could wrap his arm around her shoulders and hold her close. “Thankfully, we don’t seem to have to deal with it much. Friendship with whatever form Jaskier takes is far from a loss.”

“I know.” Yennefer wrapped her arms around him. “But how much longer will we have? She’s getting older, and I think I saw the start of gray hairs.”

“We’ll make the most of it.” Geralt’s hand stroked up and down her arm reassuringly. “And then, we’ll have a chance to start all over again.”

“Hmm.” Yennefer shifted closer to his chest. “Let’s go back to bed.” 

They slid down the headboard together, slipping down into sheets that still carried traces of another lover’s scent.

\------

After that night, there was a period of awkwardness. But like everything else, it passed. They still went by intermittently, together or alone. They met her grandchildren when they came, and were still treated like part of the family. Their room was still theirs, and never at any cost.

It continued on like that for 15 more years.

\-----

Geralt knew something was wrong when Yennefer portalled to him, looking distressed. He put down the sword he’d been sharpening where he’d made camp for the night. “What is it?”

“A plague. “ Yennefer’s violet eyes showed her concern even if the rest of her was contained. “It’s spread to Elsa’s town.”

“Fuck.” Geralt stood, swords forgotten. “Take me there.”

Yennefer shook her head. “The roads are locked down, and for good reason—”

“You can’t get ill, and neither can I.” Geralt stepped closer. “We need to check on them.” The whole extended family ran through Geralt’s mind, but he knew older people were often at the greatest risk from illnesses. Elsa was sixty-five, by Geralt’s count. Would they be too late?

“Alright.” Something in Geralt must have convinced Yennefer, because she leaned in, taking his hand. “We’ll check on them, but we have to be careful.”

“Of course.” He squeezed her hand and followed her through the portal.

Aleksander looked up with a start as they appeared in the middle of the empty tavern area, then choked a sob. “You’re too late.”

They approached the counter, Geralt finally breaking the silence. “What happened?”

Aleksander leaned back against the wall behind him, shaking his head. “We were the first place in town to be hit. Travelers from another town who thought they were fine, but weren’t. My mother…by the time we knew, the healers couldn’t do anything.”

“I’m sorry.” Yennefer leaned heavily on the counter, taking a deep breath. “Did they at least ease the way for her?”

“Yes.” Aleksander nodded solemnly. “We were there for her, as much as we could be. And she spoke of you two, on her deathbed.” There was something hard to read in his eyes.

“We would have been here if we’d known.” Geralt wondered if they could have done anything if they’d only had a few days warning, gotten here a little sooner. But it was no use wondering now. “She was a good friend to us.”

“And you to her.” He nodded, then paused. “She wanted us to give you something; insisted in fact.” He stepped away from the wall. “I’ll be back.” He walked around the counter, off to the part of the inn where the family lived.

Yennefer rested her head on her hand; her expression was still but Geralt could feel the energy charging around her. “Too late, again.”

“It’s not your fault.” His hand covered hers on on the countertop. “It’s no one’s fault.”

Before he could say anything further, Aleksander returned, something wrapped in cloth in his hands. “It’s funny, holding this now. She never let anyone else touch it when she was…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed roughly. He began unwrapping it and looked at them. “She wanted you to have it, and I want to respect her wishes. Also, know that you’ll always be welcome here still. You’re friends of the family, if not part of it.”

“Thank you.” Yennefer reached out as he finally finished unwrapping the object, revealing a familiar case. She opened it, revealing the lute somehow still in pristine condition. She looked at Aleksander. “We’ll be sure to take good care of it.”

Geralt nodded, his hands squeezing into fists at his sides. “Thank you, for getting it to us.” He looked at Yen, not needing to speak to decide what to do next. “We’ll stay so we can pay our respects.”

The next evening, there was another grave growing buttercups and dandelions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The death this chapter is off-screen, but it's due to a disease/plague that travelers brought to the village (I'm sure you can guess where I got the idea for this one). The possible dub-con is that after this Jaskier's husband dies, she approaches Geralt and Yennefer and propositions them. They can tell she's really caught up in grief (and it's the 100 year anniversary of the first Jaskier's death so they're not unaffected by grief either) and there's some question of if it's clouding everyone's judgement. Consent is asked for and given, but there's regret the next morning. Some times I would reread it and get a weird feeling about it and other times not, so I figured I'd warn just to be cautious. It's also mostly off-screen and everyone does verbally consent, but because it's a case of possibly clouded judgement I figured a warning here but not on the fic at large seemed appropriate. 
> 
> Anyways, how are we feeling? Next chapter will not be quite so long, but it is longer than the last two. 
> 
> Here's the song if anyone's curious: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uN_PlA1yGVc (the Florence and the Machine one the fic is named for that appears in this chapter; I made up the Blaviken lyrics)


	5. Tell them I’ll be brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! One note on timelines I've been meaning to say but kept forgetting: there's a reason I'm barely mentioning characters besides Geralt and Yennefer. I have some knowledge of book and game timelines, but have chosen to ignore them, and don't want to think about whether other characters would live or die even as this starts to stretch for centuries. The exception to this is Ciri because I've decided she gets to be functionally immortal like her parents. But otherwise, I'm leaving it intentionally ambiguous.
> 
> But Jaskier does continue to die, so mind the warning in the end note cuz this chapter does have a bit more violence than other ones. Take care of yourselves!

Geralt stopped for a midday meal in another tavern in another small town. He wasn’t sure the name, although after over 275 years of life it was entirely possible he’d been here before. It all blended together some days; he distantly wondered if that was part of why Vesemir had decided to mostly stay in the mountains all those years ago.

It had been thirteen years since they’d lost Elsa. Grief wasn’t easier when it was repeated, it turned out. Geralt had never been good with emotions, and this seemed to be no exception.

“Something attacked us in the woods!” The young man that burst into the tavern looked as if he’d been running through the woods, his clothes torn and his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. He looked around the tavern wildly. “They sent me ahead for help.” He bent over, hands on his knees as he breathed deeply.

This, Geralt did know how to do. He stood, crossing over to the man. “What can you tell me?”

The young man’s eyes widened; on closer inspection he was maybe too young to really be considered a man, probably near the age Ciri’d been when Geralt first met her all those years ago, if not younger. “You’re a witcher!”

“Yes; I can help.” He almost reached out to steady him, but stopped himself. “What happened?”

“We were attacked.” The young man—boy—took a deep breath. “Something came through the air, our horse collapsed.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Arrows?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Venom. Didn’t see where it was coming from; they told me to run and get help.”

Not enough to truly know what it was yet, but good to know in advance. Geralt nodded, already mentally running though his inventory. “Anything else you can remember?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.” The boy stood.

“No, you’ll stay where it’s safe.” Geralt tried his best stern expression.

“It’s my family at risk.” The boy crossed his arms. “I’ll lead you to them, and then maybe I can help.”

“It’ll be dangerous.” At the stubborn look in the boy’s eyes, Geralt sighed. “Fine. But stay out of the way, maybe get others to safety if you can while I kill whatever it is. No deaths that can be avoided.”

“It’s a deal.” Blue-green eyes lit up, and something in Geralt twinged painfully.

It had been a long time since they’d known a Jaskier with blue eyes, but he’d been the original, and was still the one Geralt knew the longest. He wondered what Jaskier would look like this time around; hopefully luck would be on their side and they’d find him before it was too late again.

Geralt followed the boy out of the tavern, taking note of their surroundings to try to predict what he’d be facing. “How far into the forest are they?”

“I’m not sure.” Blonde hair shifted as he turned back to look at Geralt. “I wasn’t exactly timing it, but it wasn’t long.”

“So it was daylight already when you were attacked?” That might help, but the venom already narrowed it down some.

“Yes.” Another nod. “And I didn’t see anything until the horse dropped. We only realized it was venom and not arrows because we couldn’t see an arrow. By that point we heard something moving, and they told me to run to get help.” He looked back at Geralt with a smile. “It was good luck that you were there.”

“Hmm.” Geralt stopped them at the stables so he could go through Roach’s saddlebags. He could hear the boy getting closer. “Don’t touch Roach.” This Roach wasn’t as temperamental as some others had been, but it was always a good warning. Even if for some reason today it made him think of saying it to Jaskier on the day they’d met in Posada just about two centuries ago.

The boy seemed unperturbed by Geralt’s warning or his slip into his memories. “Are those witcher potions?”

Geralt hesitated. It seemed he’d gotten a curious one. “Some of them.” He opened a different pouch, looking for what he suspected he’d need and tucking it into his belt.

“Does it hurt to take them?” The boy lingered at the door to Roach’s stall.

They were toxic, but… “If you’re still alive to feel pain, then it’s better than the alternative.”

“That’s dark.” The boy moved out of the way as Geralt left Roach’s stall.

“That’s life as a witcher.” Making sure his swords and everything he’d need was settled, Geralt looked the boy in the eye. “Which way?”

“Follow me.” The boy turned and started making his way into the forest, Geralt following behind him.

It was quiet for a bit, the two of them making their way through the forest as quickly as they could. Still it did seem to be a ways into the woods; Geralt could see the boy getting restless.

“Is it true witchers can hear heartbeats? Like, even from across a room?” He didn’t turn to look at Geralt, keeping his focus on the trail.

Geralt debated allowing the conversation. It might soothe the boy, whose racing heart Geralt could hear, but it also might distract them when they should be listening to their surroundings. Maybe best to answer, but keep it short. “Yes.”

That didn’t get much response, but a few steps later came another question. “Can witchers actually have very long lives? Like, several times a human life?”

 _Certainly fucking feels like it._ Geralt snorted. “It all depends on if you get killed before that can happen.” With that in mind, he drew his silver sword and began to get it ready for a fight.

That seemed to make the boy pause, but only for a moment. “And you can smell emotions?” Blue-green eyes glanced back.

“Not exactly.” This child must have looked into witchers some to know that. There were still plenty of rumors about what witchers could do, of course, even as to some witchers seemed to be fading into folklore. Some of Jaskier’s songs—the first Jaskier’s songs, that is—had practically become folk songs themselves. Geralt wondered what the bard would have thought of that.

Another beat of silence, then the boy spoke again. “Is it true that witchers don’t retire?”

The wording made Geralt pause, a very old conversation echoing in his mind for a moment before he refocused on the present. “I haven’t.”

The boy continued looking ahead as if the conversation hadn’t meant anything to him. “I think we’re almost there.” Without looking back, he asked a question that made Geralt freeze in his tracks. “Do you still get together with the other witchers every winter?”

“Fuck.” That was something that no one knew unless they’d been to Kaer Morhen themselves, and that was a very small group.

Before Geralt could respond further or try to understand what was happening, there was a screech, and the boy perked up as they rounded a bend in the road to see an overturned cart with a horse corpse in front of it. Or at least, what remained of it.

Geralt grabbed the boy’s shoulder, mindful of the noise he’d heard as they entered the clearing. “It knows we’re here, and it won’t be happy. Get to your family, and stay out of the way.”

The boy ran to get behind the cart where Geralt could hear a few other people. Now that they were safe, he stepped further into the clearing, sword raised and ready.

Geralt heard the creature move and launch venom before he saw it, backing away and casting quen to protect himself before readying himself to fight once more.

It was a venomous arachas, and large. Hopefully the fallen horse had distracted it from the boy’s family.

Glad he’d prepared as they’d traveled, Geralt struck the arachas, but it seemed to have little effect against the creature’s armored body. His sword dug in, but not nearly enough to harm it. Enraged, it spat venom at him and he was too close to dodge. He grunted, pulling his sword free.

Geralt backed away, narrowly dodging another blast of venom. It probably wouldn’t kill him, but it certainly wouldn’t help in this fight if he were hit again. Plus, he needed to make sure the arachas stayed clear of the family.

He’d gotten it to the other side of the clearing, his potion-aided focus helping him dodge most attacks even if his venom-slowed reflexes meant he was blocking rather than fully evading others. But then he heard a shuffling from the other side of the clearing. The momentary distraction was enough for Geralt to miss the swipe of the arachas’ pincers, getting himself caught in the side.

He staggered backwards; even though it had barely pierced his armor, the strain of the fight made the effects of the second venom dose feel all the stronger. Perhaps he was starting to get too slow; the arachas had him backed against a tree and was preparing to spit venom again; he only hoped he’d distracted it long enough for the family to escape—

“Hey!” The boy’s shout echoed through the clearing, followed by the sound of a rock flying though the air and hitting its target. Geralt winced as the arachas’ screech grated on his ears as it whirled around, back towards the other side of the clearing.

Geralt could not allow it to get there. He charged forward, plunging his sword into its vulnerable back to slow it enough that he could get close enough to finish it.

There was screaming and other sounds before it started to turn back towards Geralt, but he managed to land the killing blow, the arachas giving one last screech before collapsing.

Breathing heavily, Geralt finally looked around the clearing, and then froze.

No.

Lying on the ground between the cart and the arachas was the boy, his chest moving unsteadily and a dark spot spread across his front.

Geralt raced over and dropped to his knees by the boy’s side, that face that had seemed full of youthful curiosity no more than half an hour before now twisted with pain.

It was only a small amount of venom that had managed to reach him, but only a small amount was necessary for one so young, one yet to start to really grow into adulthood. Now he never would.

But when he looked to Geralt, his eyes looked older, and maybe it was a trick of the light but he swore they looked pure blue instead of the blue-green of before. “It hurts, but I don’t regret saving you.”

“No.” Geralt’s hands twitched toward him, but he knew there was nothing he could do. Even if he managed to call Yennefer, the boy would be dead before she could open a portal. “You shouldn’t have done that. Jas—“ His voice choked in his throat.

The boy smiled weakly. “I’ll be back, I know it.” He took an unsteady breath and winced in pain again. “Dunno for you. Don’t let yourself get too slow yet.” He took one last shuddering breath, and then his eyes rolled to the sky.

Geralt tensed as he heard the family come around the toppled cart. There was wailing, and then others around him at the body

A hand touched his shoulder, and Geralt expected violence. Vitriol. He deserved it. He’d let—

“Witcher, you’re hurt.” Geralt turned to what must have been the boy’s father.

He tensed. “Don’t touch me or him. The venom is potent, you could still be hurt.” The others backed away, and Geralt reached for the body. “I’ll help set up a pyre.”

“You don’t have to—” Confusion.

“He died because of me. It was gaining the upper hand and he distracted it long enough for me to kill it, but I wasn’t fast enough to—“ Geralt’s throat caught again. “I might not have been here if he hadn’t…” So many ways to finish that sentence, not that they’d know.

A beat of quiet from the father. “If you’d died, it probably would have killed us all.” A choked back sob. “Frederick was always too damn foolhardy for his own good. A damn good boy though, caring.”

“And brave.” He took a deep, steadying breath, like Vesemir had taught him centuries ago. “Gone too young.” Geralt set the body down a safe distance away from the arachas so that they could begin to prepare the pyre without getting close to it. “I’ll dispose of the creature; you gather wood for the pyre and then once that’s done I’ll escort you to the town.”

A hesitant nod, and then they spoke again. “We don’t have much in way of payment, but—”

“Keep your coin.” Geralt spared one last look at the far too young boy before him and then turned away. “You’ve lost too much today already.”

\-----

He wasn’t sure when he’d contacted Yennefer, but he heard the portal even if he didn’t look away from the pile of ash. It had long stopped smouldering, and the family was already on their way again. Only Geralt came back.

“We missed him again?” Her voice was pained, but not accusatory.

“It was my fault; I wasn’t able to protect him.” Geralt clenched his fists. “He knew me, at the end. He knew too much even before then.”

“Even without the lute?” Yennefer settled against his side, and he inhaled the familiar lilac and gooseberries.

“Yes.” He wrapped an arm around her, not sure if it was for comfort or from habit. Maybe both. “He was so young, and we were still too late.”

He heard her teeth grind together as she tightened her jaw. “How are we supposed to this?”

Geralt took a deep breath. “Could you do a tracking spell? If we could just somehow find Jaskier sooner—”

“Yes, because getting taken from our families for an unknown magical destiny was such a great experience for the two of us.” Yennefer sneered. “What would we tell the families? Or should we just offer them a few marks?”

Geralt tensed at the old wounds, knowing the stress and grief was getting to Yennefer as much as him. “It doesn’t have to be like this. It shouldn’t.”

“I hate losing him too.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yennefer’s hands come up to wipe at her cheeks. “But gods, I can’t imagine taking him in young. It’d feel wrong then, to…”

“You’re right.” Geralt sighed; he’d hate when she was right if it wouldn’t mean spending so much time angry. The silence stretched, just them and their grief in the woods. “He said he felt he’d be back. Sounded certain.”

“Then we’ll fucking try again. We have to get it right one of these times.” Yennefer took a deep breath, then muttered something under her breath, and familiar yellow flowers began to sprout over the grave. She turned and stood, offering Geralt a hand. “Come on, Roach must be waiting for you.” She paused, looking him over closely for perhaps the first time since she’d reached the clearing. “And you’re injured. Dammit Geralt, do you need help getting patched up too? I know you heal fast but I can’t—“ her voice broke off and she looked away, hand still extended toward him. 

“I know.” He took the offered hand, letting her pull him up. “And I’ve tended to it, but I won’t say no to a second look. Or some company beyond Roach, for a while.”

She nodded tightly, returning the gesture as he wrapped an arm around her, and together they walked out of the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Death warning: This Jaskier dies young (around 13 years old); Geralt is saving his family from an arachas (I looked up monsters from the video games for this) and starts to get badly injured, which freaks out this Jaskier (hell of a way to get your memory jogged, huh?). He distracts it long enough to give Geralt the advantage, but gets hit with venom in the process and dies shortly afterward.
> 
> On a lighter note, you get to play "Find the Amazing Devil reference" again. And we'll be back next week with another chance...
> 
> Also, if you live in the US and are eligible to vote but haven't yet, please go vote. Do it in person or drop off your ballot at a designated place; this isn't an election to risk it getting lost in the mail. And honestly if you can, do your research to vote on everything, not just president. Even if the orange ass wins again if we can get congress, state, and local governments against him that can lead to some measure of damage control. If anyone wants recommendations for election research websites, I've got a few but don't want to make this note too long, so feel free to ask in the comments. Let's support each other and stay safe!


	6. I’ll request this song for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone and what a week it has been! But at least we got good news today; I can't wait for January when the orange ass is officially out of power. Anyways, I was expecting this chapter to be short but then it just kept wanting more scenes, so I think this is now the longest chapter (narrowly beating out chapter 4). I hope you enjoy this mostly fluffy chapter; it seems times of stress push me even further away from writing angst hahaha
> 
> But of course it's not all fluff, so mind the warnings in the end note and please take care of yourselves.

Yennefer boredly swirled her wine in the goblet before taking a sip. She didn’t really want to be here; as much as she’d fought for a court position what felt like lifetimes ago (and certainly was, by other people's standards), the appeal seemed gone now.

As soon as she was done here, she’d check in on Geralt. It’d been a little over twenty years since their last brush with Jaskier, and Geralt was still blaming himself for that death. Yennefer knew the pain; she’d spent time after each death wondering what she could have done differently, if she could have done anything…

And Geralt had always seemed to feel guilt more acutely than most. And the story he’d told, how that Jaskier had been so young, and risked himself to save Geralt and promised with his dying breath that he’d be back…

As much as any visits from new or old friends and family, that seemed to be what was keeping Geralt going. Just a fragile thread of hope amid the guilt.

So Yennefer would dutifully see out the night here, and then leave to check on him. At least the food and entertainment were good here.

As if cued, the bard bowed to take a break and wandered toward the corner where Yennefer stood, a tankard of mead in hand.

Resting their drink on a ledge along the wall, they pulled off their hat and ran their fingers through their braids before replacing it and turning to Yennefer with a grin. “Enjoying the show?”

“You’re far from the worst bard I’ve seen, but I have been around a long time.” Yennefer sipped her drink, glancing at the bard again. “And your name is?”

“Solidago the Bard.” They took her free hand and kissed the back, smirking at her eyebrow raise. “And you are?”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg.” It almost felt odd to introduce herself for some reason. But she had been living more quietly than she once did, and Jaskier’s songs were continuing to fade.

This bard’s grin, however, only grew. “Pleased to meet you, mistress mage.”

Something about that felt familiar, but Yennefer dismissed it. Better to focus on the present instead of rifling through memories when someone was trying to talk to her. Someone who was rather attractive as well; their bright clothes played off dark skin well without the outlandish gaudiness some bards seemed to prefer. It wouldn’t hurt to wring a little more enjoyment out of the night… “You as well; will you be performing much longer?”

They seemed to understand her meaning, but just smiled graciously. “I’m incredibly flattered, believe me, but I’m afraid the lady of the castle has already engaged me for a private encore tonight.”

“Oh?” Yennefer looked over to where their lord and lady hosts were sharing the high table but seemingly not a word nor glance between them. “And her husband?”

“Keeps to separate quarters from what I understand, but if he’s interested as well…” The bard—Solidago—trailed off with a smirk. “Entertaining a gorgeous man and woman is hardly a hardship, as I’m sure you understand.”

“Hmm.” Yennefer paused at the realization that she was picking up Geralt’s habits, but the bard just laughed.

“Perhaps we will meet again, Lady Yennefer.” With one last easy smile, Solidago left to begin another set.

Yennefer followed the bard with her eyes, trying to decipher the odd feeling that had come over her during the conversation. It all started with that nickname they’d used, one that she hadn’t heard—

In about 150 years, give or take. 

Since Jaskier, the first time around. Not his most common nickname for her, but one he liked to use while teasing. Could this be?

She’d have to try. They were alive and mostly unattached; she would not miss this opportunity. She’d rather mildly kidnap a random bard accidentally than miss their chance through inaction.

So she watched the bard, for the rest of the night.

Well, as well as she could. When they did vanish at the end of the night, Yennefer became glad for their earlier conversation, and that the balcony of her room had a view of the tower where the lady of the castle slept. And did other things, if what she overheard was correct. And while it wasn’t her intention, Yennefer became glad she was within hearing range when shouting broke out.

Rushing out to the balcony from where she’d been about to retire for the night, Yennefer overheard the tail end of shouts over infidelity, a rather dramatic response from someone who didn’t even share his wife’s bed. But it became worse a moment later, as shadows moved in front of the window overlooking the courtyard until the shapes became clear, and then someone was being pushed from the window—

Yennefer recognized that bright outfit.

She summoned a quick portal, projecting it as carefully as she could until the falling bard disappeared and she heard a thump from the room behind her. She reentered, barely looking at the stunned bard on the bed as she began gathering her things.

It only took a moment for Solidago to recover. “Why Yennefer, if you wanted me in your bed there are easier ways—”

“I saved your life; repay the favor by coming with me.” Yennefer tossed them a traveling cloak, grateful when they caught it without question.

“Where are we going?” They shifted off the bed, putting on the cloak and adjusting it for their taller frame.

“To visit an old friend.” Satisfied she had everything gathered, Yennefer picked up her bags and hastily scrawled a note explaining she’d needed to leave on an urgent matter. Once that was done, she looked to the bard. “Anything else you’ll need?”

“Um, yes.” They crossed their arms. “My clothing, my instrument, my—”

Yennefer held up a hand to stop them. “Anything that can’t be replaced? You were just defenestrated by the lord of the castle, it’s important we get out of here quickly.”

“Fine.” Solidago rolled their eyes, but stood firm. “I won’t pack everything, but I’m not leaving my lyre behind.”

“Then let’s be quick.” Yennefer gestured for them to lead the way out of the room. “We probably don’t have long before they realize you haven’t met your end on the stones of the courtyard.”

“I hear you.” They waved a hand dismissively, but led her through the castle quietly and quickly anyways, and didn’t linger long in their room.

So the alarm hadn’t even been raised by the time Yennefer was taking a carriage and leading it to the last house Geralt had been at at, which thankfully wasn’t far.

They were barely past the castle gates when Solidago turned to her from the seat next to her. “So am I going to get an explanation, or am I being kidnapped?”

“I have a theory. If I’m right, I won’t need to explain.” She paused, a dash of uncertainty creeping in. “If I’m wrong, you’ll get an interesting story about how an odd mage saved your life.”

“Alright.” They nodded, not seeming satisfied but realizing that they weren’t getting anything more out of Yennefer.

Finally, they arrived at the house, and Yennefer sent the carriage on its way with a generous tip for their discretion. Their luggage in hand, Yennefer led Solidago into the house, bidding them to wait in a room downstairs while she looked for the lute and Geralt.

He was asleep, and deeply so if her opening the door didn’t wake him. Between him needing the rest and her own uncertainties, Yennefer decided not to wake him, just carefully taking the lute and returning downstairs to where the possible new incarnation of its owner awaited.

Solidago raised an eyebrow. “That’s a beautiful instrument, but I do have my own if you want a performance.”

“Humor me.” Yennefer thrust it into their hands, waiting for a reaction, and—

“This is horribly out of tune.” Something crossed their face, but it didn’t feel like what Yennefer was hoping for. Still, after a while of careful tuning, they looked at her expectantly. “Any requests?”

Near defeated at this point, Yennefer decided to go for something that Geralt might enjoy, if he were to wake up. Or at least something that would get a reaction out of him, and hopefully Jaskier… “Do you know _Toss a Coin to Your Witcher_?”

Another eyebrow raise. “You know that that song is over 200 years old, right?”

“And so am I.” Yennefer smiled in a way that she remembered intimidating Jaskier, wondering if it could still work.

It must have, or at least work on bards in general, because they bowed their head. “Fine. You’re just lucky I’ve studied compositions of that era. Took a few classes on it at Oxenfurt.”

“Oh?” Yennefer leaned in.

“Yeah. Just seemed interesting, I don’t know.” With a final nod, they began to play.

Yennefer watched them closely throughout the performance; they made a few odd faces, but nothing seemed to be coming up. Had she truly gotten it wrong? Was the nickname not so exclusive, had some brash bard just gotten her nostalgic like she’d accused Geralt of back during the first new life?

Both of them were so absorbed in the performance that Yennefer didn’t notice Geralt come downstairs until a hand slid around her waist. Geralt’s voice was quiet in her ear so as to not disturb the performance. “Yen, do you think—”

“Maybe.” Solidago’s eyes had been closed for the last half of the song, and Yennefer tried to mentally compare it to how Elsa or the others had reacted. Could they be remembering, and processing it? Just letting some bardic professionalism drive them to finish the song first?

It wouldn’t be too far out of character, really.

The final notes rung out, and they finally looked up and opened their eyes. Brown eyes locked onto the witcher. “Geralt!” They hastily set the lute aside and ran to him, patting him over. “Are you alright?”

Yennefer stepped away, giving them space to check on him. “So does this mean…?”

“Yes darling, no explanation necessary.” Solidago’s attention briefly flicked to her before turning back to Geralt. “Now Geralt, dearheart, are you okay?”

The smallest smile crossed his face, and Yennefer felt something in herself relax as Geralt wrapped the bard in his arms. “Yes. Better now.” They stayed like that a moment before he pulled back, frowning. “But that was a very stupid thing you did.”

“And painful.” They rubbed at their chest as if feeling an invisible wound. “Might be the worst one yet; I think it was blocking me up a bit memories-wise because apparently venom is a worse way to go than even stabbing.” Solidago looked back at Geralt, chin tilted up even if he was still taller than them. “But I don’t regret it.”

“No?” Yennefer, if what she understood of what happened, wouldn’t have regretted it either if she were in their place. But maybe Geralt needed to hear this, to get some of that guilt off of his shoulders.

“No.” Solidago looked at her with something like understanding before rubbing their temples. “Look, it’s a lot I’m re-processing right now, but the basics are this.” They looked between her and Geralt. “First time around, I didn’t know any of this would happen. Melitele’s tits, I’m not sure I even understood it after you explained your theory to me when I was Elsa. But when I was Julian-Jaskier?” They shook their head. “I thought that was all I was getting, and some part of me selfishly enjoyed the fact that, barring something horrible, I’d probably never have to live without either of you. Not like I enjoyed the idea of leaving you two to grieve, but I wouldn’t be the one getting my heart broken you know? So when the near-death-whatever seemed to make everything click for me, and I realized that Geralt might not make it out of this fight, and I might have to live without him, to somehow find you,” they looked at Yennefer, pain in their eyes, “and tell you we lost him, and that I was there and didn’t do anything?” They shook their head, more definitive this time. “Couldn’t do it.”

Geralt’s voice was soft. “You were a child.”

Solidago smiled sadly. “I would say that neither of you know how long most humans actually live, but I know you’ve both seen too much death. Someone dying as a child is hardly uncommon.” The somber note lingered a moment before they looked between them with a much different expression. “But! Now I’m an adult, and you’re adults, and I think it’s time we started enjoying each other’s company again.” They smirked, and something about it felt far too familiar.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Every time.” Their smile only widened, before they turned to Geralt with a start. “Oh! I forgot to mention, the name is Solidago now. I think we skipped past that.”

Geralt smiled again, a little wider, and Yennefer felt the last of the weight ease from her shoulders as he replied. “Good to know.”

\-----

“So.” They languidly stretched, careful not to dislodge either Geralt or Yennefer, who were wrapped around them on either side. “What now?”

Yennefer blinked, pouting in annoyance since she’d been about to drift off. “So many lifetimes, and you still don’t know when to shut up?”

“Excuse me?” Even if the voice was different, the indignance was the same, and Yennefer found herself smiling against their collarbone.

“That didn’t take long.” Geralt shifted his arm where it stretched across Solidago’s chest to use his hand on Yennefer’s side to pull everyone a little closer together. “Am I in for another lifetime of bickering?”

“Are you still going to try to proposition us to make it stop?” Yennefer could hear the grin on Solidago’s face. “Because if so, I wouldn’t mind the chance to sharpen my wit.”

“I may be out of practice; Geralt could never keep up quite as well as you.” She peeked open one violet eye to see his reaction.

He remained predicable. “Hmm.”

“But really though.” Solidago ran a hand though each of their hair. “I still love you both, but I am really feeling the court bard thing this time around. Sleeping under the stars is nice and all, but so are feather beds. And meals made by professionals instead of trail rations. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t have to retire sooner as a traveling bard the first time around; most have to stop before I did because it is rather rough on the body to walk and camp so much.”

Yennefer stilled her hand where it had been idly tracing patterns on their stomach. Should she? She had been holding onto this for a long time… “In my defense, you said no immortality. We never ruled out a little extra health and longevity.”

It was quiet a moment, all of them processing what she’d said. Yennefer resisted the temptation to skim their minds, but found herself relaxing as Solidago’s hand resumed stroking her hair. “Always too clever for your own good, huh?”

“For your good, that time.” She peeked at Geralt, but he looked still on Solidago’s other side. She glanced up to them with a smile. “Guess sex still knocks him out as well as it did the first time, huh?”

“Ugh.” They tilted her head to better see her. “That wasn’t as pleasant a memory for me as it was for you.”

Yennefer raised an eyebrow. “I seem to recall you saying you got plenty of pleasure from that memory after the fact.”

They dropped their head back to the pillow. “Why did I have to tell you that?”

“Because I intimidate you, and you like it.” She re-settled herself against their side, letting her other hand pull the blanket more fully over them before settling on Geralt’s side. “But we can decide everything in the morning. He needs the rest.” With a simple hand motion, the candles went out. 

It was quiet a moment before Solidago’s whisper broke the darkness. “It’s been rough on him then? I knew he’d blame himself, but…”

“I understand why you did it.” Yennefer took a deep breath, watching the exhale shift Geralt’s white hair across Solidago’s dark skin where a patch of moonlight came through the window. “But if you can help it, don’t do it again.”

“No promises, if it’ll save one of you.” The hand in her hair shifted down to her shoulders, holding a little more tightly.

“Even if you come back, the wait is hard.” Yennefer shifted somehow closer, careful not to dislodge either of her lovers’ hands. “And the mourning is worse.”

Solidago’s voice was quiet. “I wish I could promise you always. I really wish. Well maybe not, for all the trouble wishes have gotten us.” Their gentle laugh lifted her head on their chest. “But this gives me knowledge of past lives, not clairvoyance.” There was a heavy silence for a moment. “How many lives does one mortal soul need?”

“Let’s sleep; you’re getting too philosophical.” Still, she pressed a gentle kiss to their chest, and a part of her that she was still hesitant to voice wanted to urge them _more, never be satisfied._

Still entangled, they joined Geralt in sleep.

\-------

“What are you doing?” Yennefer crossed her arms, watching Solidago with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh come on.” They smiled; it was a little different in this life but after a few years it was starting to feel familiar still. “Haven’t you ever heard the old wives’ tale that you feel a shiver down your spine when someone walks over your grave?” They looked back down to the buttercups and dandelions they were trampling. “Nothing yet, in case you’re curious.”

“You’re ruining her spellwork.” Geralt smiled. “Plus, if any current Pankratzes are here they may wonder why you’re stepping on their however-many-greats uncle’s grave.”

“Eh, we never visited the cemetery much in my day, I can’t imagine it’s changed.” Still they stepped away, looking back at the flowers growing there, still undisturbed in the few spots where they hadn’t stepped. “You really did this to my grave each time?” Brown eyes turned to Yennefer.

She shrugged. “Plain grass just didn’t seem your style. So if we knew where, I figured why not keep the tradition going?”

“I suppose so.” They looked between Geralt and Yennefer with a smile. “So where to next? I don’t think I’ve been back to Oxenfurt in a while, and there are some professors I’d like to have a word with.” Solidago smiled wistfully. “It never sounded quite right when they said that Jaskier wrote his songs about your relationship, like just between you two, and I guess I know why now.” They grinned at them. “Do you still have the house there? It could be a very entertaining visit.”

“And you’ll what? Tell them you know better because you’re Jaskier reincarnated?” Yennefer raised her eyebrow again.

“Well I am, as you know.” They ran a hand over their head, their hair now close-cropped curls.

“And how long do you think it would take some overeager mage to try to see if it’s true?” Geralt snorted. “Not worth it.”

They pouted, then tipped their head in consideration. “I suppose you have a point; the only mage I want poking around inside me is Yennefer.” They smirked at her to emphasize the point.

She rolled her eyes. “We do still have the house in Oxenfurt though. Would you want to visit?”

“Could be good. Not like my last memory there was bad, but even if that was the easiest death I’ve had so far, I wouldn’t object to having something else as the last thing I’ve done in that bed.” Solidago smiled. “Might as well visit all the places I died; call it a greatest haunts tour.” They waited, groaning at the lack of response. “Still no appreciation for wordplay, I see.”

“Only if it’s good.” Yennefer smirked as Geralt hmmed in agreement. “We could though; Elsa’s family still gives us a room for free.”

“Now that would be interesting, if very weird.” Solidago got a faraway look. “Meeting confirmed descendants. Are either of my—” They chewed their lip. “Not really my anymore, but, are either of the children…?”

“They’d be quite old; it’s been a while since we’ve been through but they were still around last time.” Geralt glanced at Yennefer for confirmation, seeming more confident when she nodded. “Both are grandparents too.”

“Ah, that’s so weird.” Solidago absentmindedly plopped down onto the enchanted wildflowers. “I mean, I might have been a grandparent or great-grandparent before, you know,” they gestured vaguely to the headstone engraved with Julian Alfred “Jaskier” Panktraz, Viscount de Lettenhove, Oxenfurt Professor, Renowned Bard.

“I thought you didn’t believe the students claiming to be your bastard descendants.” Yennefer almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the remembrances while sitting on what was technically their grave, but restrained herself.

They shrugged. “Hard to be certain, really.”

“You were only forty-one when we got together.” Geralt stepped forward, offering them a hand to stand up. “Could you have really had children by then?” 

They accepted it, brushing off their trousers once they were on their feet. “Still left me around twenty-five years to get into trouble, as you know.” They winked at Geralt.

He groaned, then sighed. “Can’t be too mad, since if you hadn’t cuckolded half the major families on the Continent before age thirty, I never would have been at the banquet and we would have never gotten Ciri.”

“That should be our next stop.” Solidago’s eyes lit up. “I know we re-introduced me already, but it doesn’t hurt to check in on her, right?”

“Not at all.” Yennefer was already forming the portal. “Let’s go.”

\----- 

Solidago split their time between still trying to work on their career and traveling with Geralt and Yennefer; they’d rarely stay at any particular court for more than a season, not interested in how the obligations of a permanent court sponsorship might limit how often they could see Geralt and Yennefer.

More Geralt really, though. Yennefer was content to join them at courts even if Geralt never quite felt comfortable doing so for long stretches, listing any number of reasons from “there’s still work to be done as a witcher,” “Roach needs the exercise of traveling,” to others that were less believable.

But Yennefer never found herself calling Geralt on his weak excuses, for reasons that she’d never voice.

Or at least, not voice normally. But as she and Solidago dropped onto a plush bed, comfortably drunk on good wine they didn’t even have to pay for, Yennefer found herself turning to look at Solidago and running a hand over their now smoothly-shaven head; their shifting hairstyles were as good a way to track the time as any as they passed their first decade of this new life reunited with Geralt and Yennefer. “Hey, if I tell you something can you promise not to judge?”

Solidago seemed a bit less drunk than Yennefer, probably because they’d been performing and unable to drink most of the night, and thus picked up on her seriousness. “What is it?”

She shifted closer to them on the bed, not caring that neither of them had properly undressed. “I kinda like you’re into court stuff this time around and Geralt still isn’t. It lets us be together more.” Yennefer paused. “I mean of course I love Geralt, and it’s amazing when all three of us are together, but…” She pushed some of her own hair out of her face before looking back at them. “It’s like you’re more mine than his this time.”

“Huh.” Solidago snorted, rolling onto their back. “You two still competing over whose bard I am after all these years? Can’t I be my own bard?”

“It’s not that.” Yennefer reached out to smack their arm lightly, just enough that they looked back at her. “It’s just…” She looked away, some of the courage leaving her as she began to sober up with time. “The first time around, you’d known each other for years, over a decade and a half, before I even met either of you. And you two were so close; I thought you were hiding magic at first cuz you could read his grunts and non-expressions so well in a way that I would have had to skim his mind for. You two just went together so easily, you know? Geralt had to make himself use words with me.”

“I can’t believe we haven’t had this conversation yet.” They shifted closer, reaching out a hand to pull her close enough to hold her. “I—first Jaskier me—was so jealous of you. I mean obviously.” Solidago’s laugh warmed something in her, taking off the edge of negative feelings threatening to creep in. “Geralt actually gave you open affection and words—and dick, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of that,” they grinned as Yennefer snorted, “and it all came together so fast; in one day he was running into a collapsing building to save you, and in over a decade he still didn’t call me a friend. I just sat there writing jealous songs and trying not to overhear you two fuck.”

Yennefer laughed, and started humming _Her Sweet Kiss_ just to tease them.

“Still,” they held her a little closer, kissing her forehead when the humming stopped. “I was yours, just as much as his, in the end. What’s a decade and a half of only knowing him, a few years of being jealous of you, and a year of just being heartbroken compared to half a century of all being happy together? Plus,” Solidago smiled at her, “you got me in bed first.”

“True.” Yennefer grinned. “Although I was far from first; if I may paraphrase you that ship had sailed, crashed, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.”

“Hey!” They laughed despite their indignant tone. “You could have been a bit earlier in that line if you’d wanted; maybe the alcohol is blurring all the lives together but I seem to remember my first fully conscious encounter with you was asking if we’d slept together, before you started acting all menacing.”

Yennefer sighed. “I was rather single-minded then, hmm?” Even all these years later not having a choice stung, but she’d had plenty of time to learn to live with it since Borch had been so blunt on that mountaintop. Plus, she’d gotten to try her hand at motherhood anyways, and she was damn proud of Ciri. She loved her daughter, all of their little family really, and was truly loved in return. 

“You’re getting maudlin on me.” They held her a little closer to rouse her from her thoughts. “If wine and reminiscing does this to you, maybe it’s best if we focus on the present.” Solidago smiled at her. “You’ve got me all to yourself with no Geralt; what is it you want to do?”

There was a hint of suggestion in their voice, but Yennefer decided to ignore it. “I think the wine and reminiscing has me tired. How about we just hold each other and sleep together in the literal sense?”

“You really are getting old.” They chuckled softly, but still reached for the edge of the blankets to wrap around them.

“Still younger than Geralt.” She smiled against their chest and snuggled closer under the blanket. “And I’ll show you just how young I can be.” She yawned. “Tomorrow though.”

“I look forward to it, darling.” They wrapped an arm around her, and the two of them drifted off together.

\----- 

It was interesting, seeing how all the lives came together. The bits of the first Jaskier stuck out the most, of course, since he was the one Geralt and Yennefer knew the longest, and the longest life to date, although none of them were sure if that influenced things.

But there were other things, outside of personality or memories peeking through. Skills with herbs and poultices that spoke to the apothecary’s trade, the musical knowledge of three lives and over a hundred and fifty years (and counting) as a bard, and (perhaps what all of them were most grateful at times) Elsa’s knowledge of cooking.

Not everything was exciting, however. There was the most recent past life, short and painfully ended, that they preferred not to speak of, for their sake and Geralt's. The towns and roads they avoided in case memories of past deaths became too much. And the moment they swore to never go back to Elsa’s inn because it was too odd, too painful, now that her children and grandchildren were all gone. Everyone Elsa had known in that life was gone, and Solidago said it was too much to bear to go back.

There was still the circle of friends and family Yennefer and Geralt had accumulated, mostly long-lived as well, some even from the first Jaskier’s life. Solidago delighted in deciding whether to let them in on the joke, whether they’d known multiple lives or just met them in this one.

Yennefer could pick up on some of their conflict even without reading their mind. Even if they never voiced it because she was sure they thought it could upset her and Geralt, she couldn’t imagine the feelings being stuck in that sort of limbo between mortality and immortality. An immortal soul getting all the pain and pleasure and peril of different mortal lives.

Still, she and Geralt did their bests to make sure the pleasure outweighed the pain and peril. 

\-----

More time passed, and Solidago was probably as successful as the first time around, even if they just bounced from court to court. But they also always made time for Geralt and Yennefer, like now.

“Think he’ll need a bath?” Solidago glanced at Yennefer from where they’d just refilled their glass of wine. They scratched their scalp along the line where their longer hair met the shaven sides before making their way over to her. 

“Probably.” Yennefer reclined comfortably, at home in another house she “conveniently” had near where Geralt had taken a contract. “You going to help him in the bath, just like old times?”

“What, like that’s exclusive between Geralt and me; we’ve all had our fun together, and gotten experience washing different hair types.” They laughed. “Plus, I may have been unconscious at the time, but I’ve heard the story of the night you and Geralt met. From both of you.” Solidago snorted. “Say what you want, I didn’t climb in the tub with him until after we got together.”

Yennefer smirked. “As I slept with both of you first despite you two knowing each other longer, it seems you could both learn something from me about taking initiative.”

“Whatever.” They reclined comfortably next to her. “It all worked out in the end, hmm?”

“Very true.” She tapped her glass to theirs in a mock toast, then looked up as the door burst open, revealing a familiar witcher soaked with rain and god knows what else. “Looks like we will be needing a bath for you; shut the door before the rain gets in.”

Geralt didn’t answer, although he did shut the door behind him. As he stepped closer Yennefer could see his eyes were still dark with potions.

“Ah, not ready to talk yet.” Solidago stood and started guiding Geralt to the room where they knew Yennefer had a generously sized bath; they glanced back at her.

“It’ll be ready.” It was a quick spell to fill the tub, and Yennefer knew Solidago could handle it from there; had been for a long time. “You’ve got this, so I’ll finish our wine.” She smiled as they scoffed at her, but poured their glass into her own to refill it. “I’ll join you in a bit.” She watched them go, intending to savor her wine. She’d have time; nothing could harm them here.

So by the time she neared the door, she wasn’t surprised to hear two voices.

“You’re never scared.” Geralt’s voice was somehow rougher than usual; Yennefer made a mental note to check his potions to see if anything was a bad batch this time around.

“Surely after all this time you aren’t surprised, are you?” Solidago’s voice had a smile in it.

Geralt huffed. “Been around a long time. Some things stick even if you and Yen say otherwise.”

“Aww, Geralt.” A soft sound like a kiss on a forehead. “You have made me feel a great many things; pain and heartbreak, if only the once, absolute joy, the first time you and your brothers got drunk enough to start really dancing while I played music at Kaer Morhen and any time you interact with children, affection and love of different forms, whatever eyes I see you though, and so many more things. But you’re never a monster to me, or to anyone in our little family, you know that. The only time I’ve felt true fear around you was when that arachas seemed to be getting the better of you, but I got relief like nothing you’d imagine when I saw you whole again.”

“Might be able to imagine it.” A splash; Yennefer could imagine him taking a hand out of the water since touch had always reassured their bard, and seemed to do so in any life. “After all, I got to see you again too.”

Yennefer leaned against the door, enjoying the warmth in her chest at the tender moment between her lovers. She didn’t want to interrupt, wanted to let them all savor it a little longer.

But Geralt’s voice cut through the moment; he was never good at sitting with emotions, even after all this time. “You going to keep eavesdropping, or are you going to come in?”

She opened the door, raising an eyebrow at them. “Excuse me for letting you two have a moment.” She turned her attention to where Geralt’s armor had been carefully discarded by the door, giving it a quick look over to have something to do with her hands. “Any injuries?”

“Just bruises, and they’ll be gone by morning.” Geralt extended a hand to her. “Join us?”

“I’m not getting in post-hunt bathwater.” Yennefer leveled them with her most scathing expression, not that it seemed to work too well on either of them anymore.

Solidago halfheartedly splashed some water at her from where they leaned against the side of the tub. “You could clean it easily, you know.”

“I know.” She stepped closer with a smile. “But why linger here when there’s a fully stocked house to enjoy?”

Geralt shifted to start getting out of the tub. “Food sounds good.”

“Then to the kitchens we go.” Yennefer turned with a swoosh of her skirts, knowing they’d follow her.

They had a whole night and an empty if well-stocked house ahead of them, after all.

\-----

“What a night!” Solidago grinned as they stepped through Yennefer’s portal the morning after a successful performance at a royal court. “Geralt, you should have seen it.”

“I’m sure you were fantastic.” There was a slight smile to his face as he looked up from where he was grooming Roach.

“You are missing out by not going to court with us.” Yennefer sat on a log in the clearing where Geralt had made camp. “They are a great performer.”

“I’ve seen them perform.” Geralt didn’t look up from Roach.

“With your fear of court, it’s probably for the best that Ciri never decided she wanted to rule the Continent, even if with her abilities and heritage she probably could get at least half of it easily. Since you’re the only one with a recognized, formal connection, as much as we contributed you’d be the one needed for all of the stuffy formal events.” Solidago laughed, sitting next to Yenenfer. “But lucky for you, of her many parents to take after she chose her witcher father.”

“Hmm.” Yennefer smiled at the slightly proud expression she could see on Geralt’s face where it wasn’t obscured by Roach’s neck.

“I still think she could have made a good sorceress if she’d wanted to.” Yennefer leaned back on her hands. “Although dear as Tissaia is to me, I’m still not sure I would have trusted Aretuza with her.”

“You two managed to give her the best of your upbringings; the training without most of the trauma.” Solidago smiled. “While I never did get her to pick up an instrument, I’d like to claim at least partial responsibility for her dramatic streak.” They kicked at Geralt’s ankle. “Has she asked you to help fake her death again recently?”

That got a wider smile out of Geralt. “No, thankfully she didn’t get your talent for trouble.”

“She had that all on her own, thank you very much.” Solidago sat back and rested a hand over their forehead. “Perhaps I did not contribute much after all.”

“Oh you definitely added dramatics, but some other things as well.” Yennefer smiled at them, trying to ignore the wrinkles showing around their eyes when they smiled back.

“Thank you.” They bowed, somewhat awkwardly since they were still seated. When they looked up, their eyes were bright. “Now Geralt, what is it you’ve pulled us away from comfy court beds to come see?”

“It’ll be worth it, I swear.” Geralt looked up, Roach ready to go. “And as thanks, maybe I’ll test one of those court beds myself soon.

Solidago’s expression somehow lit up further. “I’ll hold you to it. And don’t forget, we get to pick your outfit.”

Geralt sighed. “I know.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be great.” Yennefer stood up, leaning into his space to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make sure the bard doesn’t go overboard.” She smiled against Geralt’s neck at the indignant squawking behind her, then pulled back. “So, shall we?” 

\-----

They were back at the castle where Yennefer and Solidago had met, 30 years ago now. The lady of the castle they’d slept with (and her husband) had long since passed, which Yennefer thought was a good sign when she heard that Solidago was invited back to play.

Their host for the night was the son of that couple, not too old but well established in his reign now. Yennefer didn’t pay him much mind though, preferring to watch the show their bard put on as she did whenever they played a court. It certainly was different than watching Jaskier play for taverns had been, or even seeing him play formal events. Each life was just a little different, and Yennefer was glad that she’d had the time to learn all those variations.

But while she was focused on the show, Geralt seemed as uneasy as he always did at court events. 

Yennefer nudged his side. “Would you relax? Some of us are trying to enjoy the show.”

Geralt kept looking around the room instead of at the performance. “Something feels off.”

“Is it that you’re not wearing your armor?” Yennefer took a sip of her drink with a smile. “You never like the clothes other people pick out for you.”

“You should have seen what Jaskier made me wear to Cintra; even Mousesack thought it looked bad.” Geralt finally cracked a slight smile and seemed to settle a little further into his seat.

Just in time for their host to stand as Solidago finished a song. “A toast, to our performer tonight.” He offered a goblet in their direction. “Toast with me.”

Solidago smiled, not putting down their lyre. “Shouldn’t I finish this set first?”

“I insist.” There was something in their host’s expression had Yennefer tensing.

Presumably thinking it would be best not to anger the person paying them, Solidago approached the high table and took the proffered goblet, raising in a toast before taking a drink.

They promptly collapsed.

In a moment, Yennefer and Geralt were at their side, Yennefer checking the bard but getting no response to calls of their name.

Geralt picked up the goblet, sipping the wine that hadn’t spilled and making a face. “Poison, and potent.” He waved off Yennefer’s concerned look, turning instead to their host. “Is this how you treat your guests?”

“No.” He sneered, clearly not knowing the danger he was in. “This is how I serve justice.”

Unable to stare at Solidago’s rolled back eyes and futilely channel chaos into their still body any longer, Yennefer turned to their host with a glare. “For what? What did they possibly do to you? It’s been decades since they last set foot in this castle or its grounds.”

“True, I was merely a child the last time.” Yennefer was tired of this smug bastard; she wondered how many senses of the word applied. “But I know that that bard,” he pointed at Solidago’s still form, “was responsible for the destruction of my parents’ relationship.”

“Ha!” Yennefer was glad for an outlet even if she checked her chaos. “There was no relationship long before then. It was clear to everyone in attendance that there was no real connection or love between them; they didn’t even share a room. Made it all the easier for your mother to invite a young bard who didn’t know any better to her bed.” Yennefer was aware of the silence in the room, and chose her next words carefully. “Were it not for me, this bard would have died thirty years ago when your father attempted to murder them in a misplaced jealous rage.” She glared. “Two generations of murderers; you’re unfit to hold any seat, and I will not hesitate to ensure that no one of your bloodline ever holds so little as a plot of farmland or storefront ever again. You’d be best to avoid marriage and let your dynasty die with yourself; humanity doesn’t need such a stain, such a joke of a lordling or a line, to linger and fester for any generations more.” She glared at him, satisfied with how he’d begun to cower. Good. Let him know fear, even if this was her being merciful by sparing his life.

She only looked away when Geralt stepped beside her, now holding Solidago’s body. “If you attempt to stop us from leaving, you will regret it.”

Impatient for even a walk out of the castle, Yennefer opened a portal right in the midst of the grand hall, now filled with scandalized whispers, and picked up Solidago’s lyre before leaving with Geralt just behind her.

They had another funeral to plan, and another grave to prepare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is an attempted murder early in the chapter where the current Jaskier gets pushed out a castle window, but Yen saves them. The actual death is poisoning, and it is "on screen" but it's very quick and not all that graphic.
> 
> Only one chapter left! How are we feeling?


	7. And return to you instead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Are you ready for the final chapter?

“It’s 200 years. This year.” Geralt kept looking around the tavern; even after over 350 years of life the hypervigilance he’d learned never quite went away. Plus, the death anniversaries always made him a bit more on edge. 

Yennefer didn’t need to ask what he was referring to to. “And twenty since the last time.” She took a sip of her mead, glancing around more idly than Geralt. “Think we’ll find the latest one soon?” It still hurt like it always did, but there was hope still too. She just had to hold on to that.

“As long as we get there before death does.” Seemingly satisfied no threats had arrived since they’d finished dinner, Geralt shifted his focus to his drink.

“Or marriage.” Yennefer snorted before taking a long pull from her own drink.

“I’d take another round of friendship and nothing more over dying in our arms far too young again.” Geralt set his drink down, glowering at Yennefer.

She deflated slightly under his golden stare. “You know I would too.” She sighed. “But even if we just got everything for about half as long last time as we did the first time around, it was so good. I know you missed it too, the other times.”

“Hmm.” His drink emptied as well, Geralt looked at his hands on the dirty tavern tabletop.

Yennefer kicked his foot under the table to get his attention and waited til he looked at her. “This bard’s shit; you’d think the school would only let the good graduates play within the town.” The slight smile that got from Geralt made it all the worth it, and Yennefer felt herself grin in response. “It’s a nice night; how about we take the scenic route home, and then find a way to entertain ourselves that Jaskier would approve of?”

Geralt stood, offering her a hand. “Be good to check on Roach too.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes, but took his hand. “Glad to know where I stand.”

Still, it was pleasant as they walked though the streets and across the university campus together to the old house they’d held onto for over two centuries, looking at all the differences and similarities in Oxenfurt since they’d first come so long ago.

It was pleasant, until Geralt froze outside their house. “Someone’s inside.”

Yennefer stilled, one arm still locked with his at their sides. “Any danger?” Geralt didn’t tend to carry his swords in town, but she’d bet he still had at least one blade hidden on his person, and it wasn’t like either of them truly needed to be armed to be dangerous. They’d be prepared.

But Geralt’s expression seemed confused, not alarmed. “I don’t think so.”

“Unusual for you to be uncertain.” Yennefer looked at the door, cautiously taking the handle with her free hand. “But no time like the present, I suppose.” She pulled the door open, knowing they could protect each other if needed.

At first glance, nothing seemed disturbed. But there was a faint sound coming from the back room; without needing to communicate Geralt and Yennefer moved toward it, chaos only a movement away from either of their fingertips.

“You’d think one of you would learn to tune this by now, but I suppose not. Lutes are a pain to tune though; I don’t regret that other instruments have become more fashionable.” Sitting in one of their comfortable chairs and illuminated by a candle was an unknown woman with Jaskier’s lute; her short dark hair obscured part of her face as she leaned over the instrument, and her trousered legs were crossed under her on the seat.

Yennefer paused, but Geralt pushed past her. “That is the last thing in this house that you’d want to steal; if you’re a thief you’re an especially stupid one.”

“Breaking into the house of a mage and witcher, semi-retired though they may be, would be a stupid move.” She looked up, brown eyes shining. “However, I’d argue that I couldn’t steal something that was already mine.”

Yennefer grabbed Geralt’s arm, not expecting to physically restrain him but knowing he’d stop nonetheless. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She grinned, and something about it was achingly familiar even on a new face once more. “Darling, Dearheart, it’s me. I found you this time.”

Geralt seemed to relax at that, but not completely. “How did you know?”

She bit her lip. “I may have been eavesdropping on you in the tavern, for purely professional reasons, and overheard your conversation. It made something click, and after a bit to process I decided to see if I could test it myself. I still know this town and this house well enough, it seems, to somehow beat you back here.”

“Should have known it was you the second we walked in.” Yennefer’s smirk probably looked more like a smile, but she knew neither of them would judge her for it. “No one else would be quite so dramatic.”

“Well it’s not everyday you tell your lovers that you’re back from the dead again, is it?” She grinned. “I’d say that calls for some drama.”

“Wait.” Geralt paused where he and Yennefer had been drawing closer like moths to a flame. “What do you mean, eavesdropping for professional reasons?”

“Right.” She rubbed one hand through the short hair on the back of her head. “I may be in service of the Redanian Intelligence Service, and thought eavesdropping on a witcher without being caught would be a good challenge to keep my skills sharp.” She recovered her confidence quickly. “Went better than I could have expected, all things considered.”

“You’re a spy?” Yennefer raised an eyebrow.

“Not like it’s the first time.” She shrugged, then froze. “Damn; I kept that secret for how many lifetimes, and now this.”

“Which time?” Geralt sat on the table by the chair, counting off on his hands. “You stayed in one place or died young every time except the last one.”

“Or the first.” She smiled sheepishly, then took a deep breath. “Julian-me knew you’d both freak out, which is why I never said anything, but it turns out bards make excellent spies! Only thing that seemed to be better is having vague intuitive knowledge of several different professions and parts of the Continent, including knowledge from past spying.”

“How did we not know?” More amused than Geralt seemed to be, Yenenfer opted to sit on their new companion’s lap instead, not caring that the spy was smaller than her, and didn’t wait for an answer. “Guess we’ll have to keep a closer eye on you this time around.”

“Probably should have guessed when I had daggers concealed in my doublets and knew what a glamour charm was off the top of my head.” That crooked grin looked different on this new face, but had the same effects. “I mean really; would that fit with a bard or nobleman’s realm of knowledge?”

“That first winter at Kaer Morhen?” Geralt still looked a little stunned. “Already?”

She shrugged. “Well maybe my post-mountain crisis wasn’t just getting drunk enough to think Yennefer was an apparition. And maybe a bit of wintertime hobbies before that.”

Yennefer laughed. “You just keep finding ways to surprise us, bard. But what should we call you this time around?”

“Hmm.” She stared at Yennefer, but did reach out a hand to pat Geralt’s leg to comfort him through his crisis. “Assuming he lets me out of his sight enough to work, I’ll be bouncing between aliases a bit. But for now,” she leaned up enough to kiss Yennefer before separating with a smile, “Call me Jay.”

“Works for me.” Yennefer reached out and gave Geralt’s shoulder a gentle shake. “C’mon, we can sort out the drama later. Let’s take this upstairs for now.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” Jay grinned as she and Yennefer stood, and she slapped Geralt on the shoulder. “You should come, but we’re happy to get started without you too.”

Geralt still looked a bit stunned. “I need to check on Roach.”

“Wow.” Jay laughed. “The horse is still the most important woman in Geralt’s life.” Her warm brown eyes shone with humor. “Or maybe Ciri, but while she’s always had Geralt wrapped around her little finger I’d rather not be thinking of our lion cub now.” She turned to Yennefer. “Shall we, darling?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warning this time cuz it's an open ending and we don't see a death this chapter (in case anyone skipped to the end out of habit. Was anyone using the warnings?)
> 
> I Hope you've enjoyed! I have various other witcher things in the works, including a modern AU that I'm really enjoying writing, so subscribe to me if you want to see that!

**Author's Note:**

> Next update will be next week!


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